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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/clintonorboylifeaimw 


%\)t   Jtimltjell    St0tiM 


CLINTON: 


OR, 


BOY-LIFE  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 


BY 
WALTER    AIMWj^LiL., 

AUTHOR    OF    'OSOAB,'  'bOT'S    OWN    GDIDB,'   ITO, 


l»l©ltl)   fiIlustratCon» 


BOSTON: 
^OTJLD      AND      LINCOLN 

69     WASHINGTON     STREET. 

NEW  YORK:   SHELDON    AND    COMPANY. 
CINCINNATI :  GEO.  S.  BLANCHARD. 

18  72. 


^; 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  18^,  by 

Gould   and    Lincoln, 

Id  the  Cierk'.-;  Ofuce  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  o( 
Massachusetts. 


PREFACE. 


The  story  of  Clinton  is  designed  mainly  to 
illustrate  by  example  the  importance  of  early 
habits  of  obedience  and  industry  ;  the  dan":er  of 
mingling  with  unprincipled  and  vicious  com- 
panions; and  the  necessity  of  being  able  to  say 
NO,  when  tempted  to  do  wrong.  It  is  also  design- 
ed to  awaken  in  boys  a  stronger  taste  for  the 
quiet  and  innocent  pursuits  and  pleasures  of 
home-life, —  a  taste  which  can  hardly  be  over- 
estimated, as  one  of  the  Heaven-appointed 
safeguards  of  youthful  virtue. 

Winchester^  Mass 


^UustratiflEB. 


Page 

Clinton's  Home fbontisfiec&i 

Map  of  Bkookdale 14 

The  Boat  Aground 38 

The  Eibe  in  the  Woods 69 

Oscar  in  Jail 84 

Clinton  AT  THE  Fireside .'.  ...  117 

Hatmarket  Square 143 

Sea-Sickness * 162 

The  Snow  Image 177 

The  Log  House .•......■ 199 

The  Loggers'  Camp 219 

The  Settle 248 

Bouncer's  Tail 264 

Tiis  Reform  School 269 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  L . 

CLINTON  AND   HIS    HOME. 

Page 
Description  of  Brookdale  —  The  house  where   Clinton 
lived  —  Specimens  of  his  ingenuity  —  His  habit  of  find- 
ing out  how  to  do  things  —  Annie  —  Clinton's  mother  — 
Keeping  ducks  —  Clinton's  poultry  —  Keeping  accounts 

—  His  profits  —  Obstinate  Specky  —  Ducks  bad  mothers 

—  The  duck-house  —  No  school  —  Studying  at  home  — 
Clinton  at  work  —  A  mysterious  "  but," 13 


CHAPTER  n. 

.JEERY  AND   OSCAR. 

Digging  a  duck-pond  —  Bantering  —  A  talk  about  work 
—  Going  to  the  pond  —  Clinton's  hesitation  —  Afraid 
of  being  laughed  at  —  Ridicule  —  He  yields  —  Bathing 
— A  merry  time  —  Unpleasant  thoughts  —  A  sail  pro- 
posed —  Clinton's  remonstrance  —  His  return  home  — 
His  companions' sport — Aground — Laughing  at  mis- 
chief—  Character  of  Jerry  and  Oscar  —  Dangers  ahead,     30 


CHAPTER  HL 

TEMPTATION. 

The  little  ducks  —  Their  house  and  pond  —  Their  first 
ducking — An  exciting  scene  —  The  beautiful  and  the 
ridiculous  —  Winter  wheat  —  Hard  work  —  A  welcome 
proposal  —  The  Cross-Roads  —  Clinton's  errand  —  Os- 
car and  Jerry  —  Gunning — The  closed  store — An- 
other successful  temptation  —  The  river  —  The  Falls  — 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

Pag« 

The  wood-road  —  The  cigars  —  Temptation  again  — 
Why  Clinton  yielded  — A  new  sensation  —  Starting  for 
home  — Another  new  sensation,  not  so  pleasant  —  An-i- 
val  home  — Sickness  —  Telling  half  the  truth  — Parental 
sympathy — W  lat  conscience  said  —  Good-night, 43 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CBIME. 

The  icicle — How  evil  habits  are  formed  —  Stealing  pears 
—  Discovery  and  flight  —  A  call  from  Mr.  Upham — A 
serious  matter  —  A  talk  about  punishment  —  The  cul- 
prits discovered  —  The  flogging  of  Oscar  and  Jerry  — 
Its  effects — Fire  in  the  woods — Mr.  Upham's  loss  — 
His  suspicions  —  The  wan-ant  —  Arrest  of  Oscar  and 
Jerry  —  Mr.  Preston's  feelings  —  Arrival  at  Squire  Wal- 
cott*^s  —  A  dreary  hour, 6' 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE   EXAMINATION. 

The  Justice  of  the  Peace  —  Oscar's  arraignment  —  His 
feelings  —  The  Squire's  advice  —  Reading  of  the  com- 
plaint—  Oscar's  plea — The  witnesses — Mr.  Preston's 
opinion  of  the  evidence  —  Decision  reserved  —  JeiTy's 
examination  —  His  confession  —  Oscar's  recall  —  His 
surprise  —  Bonds  required,  but  not  obtained  —  Oscar 
and  the  constable — A  sad  journey — The  jail  —  The 
registry  —  Oscar's  cell  —  His  supper  —  His  father's  ar- 
rival at  Brookdale  —  The  case  settled  —  Release  from 
'ttl, 73 


CHAPTER  VL 

JEEET  AND    CLINTON. 

Mr.  Preston's  absence —  Jerry's  conduct —  The  rabbits  — 
Disobedience  — Its  results  — Fate  of  the  rabbits  — Lone- 
someness  of  Jerry  —  His  secret  intimacy  with  Clinton 
—  A  dull  scholar  —  Playing  truant  —  A  bad  predica- 
ment —  A  plan  of  escape  —  Clinton  to  be  a  party —  His 
objec*ious  —  The  real  one  not  given  ^—  Coaxing  and 


CONTENTS.  VU 

Page, 
entreaty  —  Indecision  —  Tampering  with    sin  —  The 
forged  excuse — Its  success, 87 

CHAPTER  Vn. 

DISCLOSURES. 

tlow  to  conquer  a  hard  lesson  —  Can  and  can't — An  im- 
portant lesson  —  Clinton's  great  mistake  —  His  misera- 
ble position  —  The  social  party  —  Master  Eaton  and 
IVIrs.  Preston  —  Inquiries  about  Jeny — Unpleasant  dis- 
coveries —  A  mystery  —  Suspicions  —  Foreboding  of 
evil  —  Clinton's  guilt  betrayed  —  Shame  and  grief —  A 
request  —  The  confession  —  Master  Eaton's  opinion  of 
the  case  —  His  advice  —  Jerry's  perplexity, 101 

CHAPTER  VIIL 

CONFESSIOW. 

A  peep  at  Clinton's  home  —  A  talk  about  him  —  His  re- 
turn from  school  —  Sober  looks  —  "Whittling  —  Story  of 
a  whittler  —  Clinton  unburdens    his  mind  —  Parental 
admonitions  —  A  father's   prayer  —  Clinton's    punish- 
ment —  A  lighter  heart, 115 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   KUNAWAT. 

A  visit  from  Mrs.  Preston  —  Jerry's  theft  and  departure 

—  His  mother's  grief — Mr.  Davenport's  advice  —  He 
starts  in  pursuit  —  His  return  —  Feelings  towards  Jerry 

—  Temptation  not  to  be  courted, 121 

* 

CHAPTER  X 

THE   JOURNEY. 

A.  long  walk  —  The  tavern  —  The  bar-room  —  Jerry 
questioned  —  A  good  supper  —  Sleep  —  An  early  call 

—  The  stage  ride  —  Waterville  —  The  depot  —  A  long 


Fill  CONTENTS. 

PagA 

ride  by  railroad  —  Thoughts  of  home — Portland — > 
Travelling  by  night  —  Arrival  at  Boston  —  Baggage 
checks  —  Carriages  —  Bare  ground  —  Haymarket 
Square  by  gas-light  — Hunting  up  quarters  —  The  Ho- 
tel clerk  —  Jerry  booked  —  A  lofty  bed-room, 132 

CHAPTER  XL 

BOSTON. 

^  fine  pros]ject  —  What  next  ?  —  Oscar  at  sea  —  Break- 
fast —  The  waiters  —  Crowded  sti'cets  —  Novel   sights 

—  An  omnibus  incident  —  Shipping  —  The  ferry-boat 

—  People  JeiTy  met  —  The  wharf  —  No  boys  wanted 

—  The  outward-bound  brig  —  An  unexpected  chance  — 
Going  to  sea  in  a  hurry  — Jerry's  thoughtlessness,. ...     147 


CHAPTER  XTL 

THE   SAILOK-BOT. 

Going  down  the  harbor  —  The  ocean  —  Jerry's  first  les- 
son in  nautical  duties  —  Four-footed  passengers  —  Sea- 
sickness —  Eepentings  —  Bob's  trick  —  JeiTy's  tor- 
mentors —  Going  to  bed  —  The  forecastle  —  First  night 
at  sea  —  A  rough  moniing-call  —  Scrubbing  decks  — 
Breakfast  —  Destination  of  the  brig  —  An  "  Irisliman's 
hurricane"  —  Mother  Carey's  chickens  —  Routine  of 
work  at  sea —  Iron  discipline  — A  nap  at  the  watch — 
Insolence  cured  —  Dangerous  associates, .  1 58 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

MART. 

Jerry  missed  at  home  —  What  IMaiy  thought  had  become 
of  him  —  A  letter  —  Disappointment  —  Chnton's  visits 
—  The  snow-image  —  A  painful  contrast  —  Mary's 
sickness  —  The  doctor  —  Strange  talk  —  Delirium  — 
Recognition  —  Inquiries  about  Jerry  —  Mary's  vision  — 
Tiie  last  scene  —  The  burial  —  Heaven, 1 74 


CONT  ENTS.  \M 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   FORESTS. 

March  —  CKnton's  good  conduct  —  Au  excursion  proposed 
—  Preparations  —  The  outfit  — An  early  start  —  Their 
destination  —  The  forests  —  Plenty  of  wood  —  Its  scar, 
city  in  Europe  —  Great  stumps  — A  variety  of  trees  — 
Their  uses  —  Virtues  of  birch  —  Incident  in  Mr.  Daven- 
port's school  days  —  The  oil  of  birch  —  Curious  proper- 
ties of  the  birch  tree  —  Uncle  Tim's  clearing, 180 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    CLEAKING. 

Uncle  Tim's  premises  —  His  log  house  and  barn  —  Din- 
ner —  Uncle  Tim's  account  of  his  settlement  in  the 
woods  —  A  table  turned  into  an  arm-chair  —  Splints  — 
Holes  in  the  floor  —  The  river  —  A  sagacious  dog  — 
Bill  and  Jim  —  The  barn  —  The  crops  —  A  great  fire- 
place—  Supper  —  A  visit  to  the  river  —  A  talk  with 
the  boys  —  The  settle  —  "  I  '11  try"  —  Uncle  Tim's  sto- 
ries —  The  three  brothers  —  An  alarm  —  A  bad,  but 
laughable  predicament  —  Good  done  by  a  bear  —  Going 
to  bed, 198 


CHAPTER  XVI, 

THE  LOGGERS. 

The  journey  resumed — Dreary  scenes  —  Camping  in  the 
woods  —  Welcome  sounds  —  The  loggers'  quarters  — 
Mr.  Jones  —  Situation  of  the  camp  —  Description  of  the 
cabins  —  Their  interior  —  Return  of  the  loggers  from 
Avork  —  Supper  —  Exchange  of  provisions  —  Night  in 
the  camp  —  Going  to  work  —  The  three  gangs  —  Clin- 
ton's rambles  —  Private  marks  on  the  logs  —  Evening 
Btories  —  Log  driving  —  Jams  —  How  they  are  start- 
ed —  A  fearful  scene  —  Narrow  escape  —  The  great 
boom  —  How  the  logs  are  got  out,         215 


Z  C  ONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XVn. 

JL  TALK   IN   THE   WOODS. 

Pogt 
Starting  for  home  —  A  logger's  life  —  Mr.  Davenport's 
opinion  of  it  —  Hard  work  and  small  pay  —  Mr. 
Jones's  history  —  The  two  boys  —  Contrast  between 
their  early  habits  —  Henry  Jones's  fatal  error  —  Its 
consequences  —  A  moose  discovered  —  Its  appearance 

—  Fast  travelling  —  Antlers  of  the  moose  —  A  moose- 
yard  —  Hunting  moose  —  A  moose  at  bay  —  Home 
again, 233 

CHAPTER  XVin. 

WOEK  AND   PLAT. 

Early  spring  —  A  dull  season  for  boys  —  Clinton  in  the 
shop  —  He  makes  a  settle  —  The  motto  —  Winter 
over  —  Work  on  the  fann  —  Taking  care  of  the  gar- 
den —  A  bargain  —  Contest  with  weeds  and  bugs  — 
Secrets  of  Clinton's  success  —  Going  to  the  post-oflfice 

—  A  boyish  dispute  —  Play-ground  rhymes  —  Their 
antiquity  —  The  two  letters  —  Curiosity  excited  —  A 
letter  from  Jerry  —  Unpleasant  question  —  Consulting 

the  map, 24^ 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BITTEB  FRUITS. 

Letter  from  Clintoft's  nncle  —  Willie's  disappointment  — 
An  interesting  case  —  Oscar's  career,  after  his  release 
from  jail  —  Joins  a  band  of  juvenile  thieves  —  His  ar- 
rest —  Imprisonment  —  Denial  of  guilt  —  A  dark  fu- 
ture —  Friendly  messages  —  A  wag  of  Bouncer's  tail 
—  A  bad  beginning  seldom  makes  a  good  ending  — 
Working  and  thinking  —  A  newspaper  —  Oscar's  con- 
viction and  sentence  —  The  Reform  School  —  Its  in- 
mates—  The  four  classes  —  Class  of  "  Truth  and  Hon- 
or" —  Daily  order  of  business  —  Employment  —  The 
probability  of  Oscar's  reforming  —  Clinton's  character 
retrieved  —  Conclusion, 260 


CLINTON. 


CHAPTER  L 

CliNTONjAND     HIS     HOMZ. 

TUrOST  people  on  entering  the  little  village  of  Brook- 
dale  for  the  first  time,  are  struck  with  the  beauty 
of  its  location.  Those  who  were  born  there,  and  who 
have  always  lived  in  sight  of  its  green  hills,  and  pleas- 
ant valleys,  and  frolicsome  rivulets,  probably  do  not 
think  so  much  of  these  things  as  does  the  stranger  who 
happens  to  come  among  them,  and  who  has  an, eye  for 
the  beauty  of  nature.  Beautiful  objects  often  lose 
their  attractions  when  they  become  familiar  to  us. 
If  a  man  were  permitted  to  behold  the  splendors  of  a 

2 


14 


MAP     OF     BROOKDALE. 


clear  evening  firmament  but  once  in  his  lifetime^  he 
would  be  almost  enraptured  with  the  sight ;  but  give 
him  the  opportunity  of  gazing  at  the  stars  every  cloud- 
less night  in  the  year,  and  he  will  seldom  notice  them. 


A  range  of  high  hills  skirt  the  eastern  side  of  Brook- 
dale,  and  stretch  away  to  the  north,  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach.  Towards  the  west,  in  a  clear  day,  can  be 
seen  the  shadowy  form  of  a  distant  mountain,  looking 
like  a  dim  cloud  on  the  horizon.  Near  the  centre  of 
the  village  is  one  of  those  beautiful  little  lakes,  so  com- 
mon in  the  State  of  Maine.     Several  rivulets,  ^pd  by 


THE     FARM-HOUSE.  15 

springs  in  the  hills,  flow  tlirough  the  village  during  the 
greater  portion  of  the  year,  and  empty  their  sparkling 
waters  into  this  lake,  or  pond  as  it  is  generally  called. 
It  is  from  this  circumstance  that  the  town  is  called 
Brookdale. 

It  was  near  the  foot  of  one  of  the  hills  in  this  pleas- 
ant little  village,  in  a  snug  farm-house  a  story  and  a 
half  high,  that  Clinton  lived.  Mr.  Davenport,  his 
father,  had  formerly  been  a  carpenter  in  another  part 
of  the  S^ate ;  but  having  a  taste  for  farming,  he  gave 
up  his  trade  after  he  had  accumulated  a  little  property, 
and  bt[?ught  the  place  of  which  we  are  speaking.  He 
brought  with  him,  however,  a  great  variety  of  car- 
penter's tools,  and  had  a  room  fitted  up  for  a  workshop, 
'where  he  often  did  little  jobs  for  himself  or  some 
neighbor,  when  a  rainy  day  kept  him  indoors.  This 
room  was  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  adjoining  the  pan- 
try, so  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  go  out  of  the  house 
tc  reach  it.  Clinton  spent  a  great  many  happy  hours 
in  this  shop ;  for  though  he  was  only  thirteen  years 
old,  he  had  considerable  mechanical  skill,  and  could 
handle  the  plane,  the  saw,  the  bit,  and  most  of  \he 
other  tools,  in  quite  a  workmanlike  style.     As  he  waa 


16  Clinton's   ingenuity. 

careful  not  to  injure  the  tools,  his  father  allowed  him 
to  use  them  whenever  he  wished. 

There  were  some  very  creditable  specimens  of  Clin- 
ton's skill  at  carpentry  about  the  house,  which  he  took 
no  little  pride  in  showing  to  visitors,  as  well  he  might. 
For  instance,  there  was  the  martin-house,  on  a  tall 
pole  in  the  garden,  which  was  a  complete  miniature 
model  of  the  farm-house  itself,  including  the  long 
"  kitchen-end"  in  the  rear.  To  make  the  resemblance 
as  close  as  possible,  Clinton  gave  this  bird-house  two 
coats  of  white  paint,  and  also  painted  imitation  win- 
dows in  black.  On  the  barn  there  was  another  tall, 
straight  staff,  with  a  vane  representing  a  prancing 
horse,  all  the  work  of  Clinton's  own  hands.  The  trel- 
lises on  each  side  of  the  front  door  of  the  house  which 
supported  the  climbing  roses  and  honeysuckles,  .were 
likewise  his  handiwork. 

Clinton  did  not  like  to  have  any  one  show  him  how 
to  do  a  thing,  if  he  could  possibly  get  along  without  it 
I  suppose  it  was  for  this  reason  that  he  never  wanted 
others  to  know  what  he  was  at  work  upon,  until  it  was 
completed.  His  father  would  sometimes  laugh  at  him 
on  this  account,  and  repeat  to  him  the  saying  of  Doctor 


HIS     SISTER.  17 

Franklin,  that  the  man  who  depends  on  teaching  him- 
Belf  will  have  a  fool  for  his  master.  But  this  did  not 
move  Clinton  in  his  resolution.  It  is  a  good  plan  to 
profit  as  much  as  we  can  by  the  experience  and  ad- 
vice of  others  ;  but  after  all,  there  are  many  things 
to  which  this  rule  will  not  apply.  The  boy  who 
works  out  a  hard  sum  alone,  and  refuses  to  let  any 
one  show  him  how  to  do  it,  will  derive  much  more 
benefit  from  the  exercise  than  though  he  had  been  as- 
sisted by  others.  So,  no  doubt,  Clinton  owed  no  little 
of  his  skill  in  carpentry  to  the  fact  that  he  did  not  run 
to  his  father  for  advice  and  assistance  every  time  he 
met  with  a  little  difficulty. 

Clinton  had  one  sister,  but  no  brothers  ;  her  name 
was  Annie ;  and  she  was  seven  years  younger  than 
her  brother.  She  was  a  beautiful  child,  with  large, 
blue  «yes  full  of  confidence  and  love,  a  fat,  rosy  face, 
and  hair  that  hung  in  golden  curls  about  her  white 
shoulders.  She  was  all  gentleness  and  affection,  and 
was  the  pet  and  favorite  of  the  household.  No  boy  of 
his  age  ever  loved  a  sister  more  than  Clinton  did  his. 
Though  she  was  so  much  younger  than  himself,  he 
Bpent  much  of  his  time  with  her,  joining  in  sports  in 

2* 


18  Clinton's   mother. 

whicli  she  could  take  a  part,  or  making  playthings  for 
her  amusement.  It  was  very  rarely  that  he  allowed 
himself  to  use  an  unkind  or  impatient  word  toward 
her  ;  and  when  he  did,  he  was  sure  to  repent  of  it,  for 
he  could  not  bear  the  silent  and  sorrowful  reproach  of 
those  eyes.  Annie,  for  her  part,  was  proud  of  her 
brother,  and  returned,  with  interest,  all  the  affection 
he  bestowed  upon  her.  She  was  sure  that  no  other 
little  girl  in  Brookdale  had  such  a  brother ;  and  when 
this  subject  was  talked  about  after  school  one  day,  she 
"was  not  a  little  offended  with  Susan  Lovering,  because 
she  persisted  in  maintaining  that  her  brother  Herbert 
was  just  as  good  and  as  ingenious  a  boy  as  Clinton 
Davenport.  Annie  thought  the  idea  absurd,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  she  could  forgive  Susan  for 
making  such  a  remark. 

The  only  other  inmate  of  the  house  I  have  de- 
gcribed,  was  Clinton's  mother.  Mrs.  Davenport  was 
an  excellent  woman,  gentle  and  lady -like  in  her  man- 
lers,  and  extremely  fond  of  her  children.  Mr.  Daven- 
port employed  one  or  two  hired  men  on  his  farm  - 
portion  of  the  year,  but  they  did  not  live  with  tht 
family 


A     DUCK     SPECULATION.  19 

"  Father,"  said  Clinton  one  day,  on  coming  home 
txom  the  mill,  and  before  he  had  alighted  from  the 
wagon,  "  Father,  may  I  keep  some  ducks  ?  " 

"  Ducks !  what  do  you  want  of  them,  Clinty  ?  "  in- 
quired his  father. 

"  "Why,  I  've  just  seen  Jerry  Preston,  and  he 's  got 
some  real  handsome  ones,  and  he  says  I  may  have 
four  of  them  for  a  dollar." 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  n't  answering  my  question.  No 
doubt  Jerry  would  be  glad  to  sell  his  ducks,  but  what 
do  you  want  of  them,  and  what  will  you  do  with 
them  ?  We  must  always  think  of  these  things  before 
we  buy  anything.  I  am  not  so  sure  but  that  if  you 
had  the  ducks  you  would  be  almost  as  badly  off  as  the 
ihan  who  came  into  possession  of  an  elephant,  which 
he  could  not  keep,  sell,  nor  give  away." 

"  Why,  father,"  replied  Clinton,  "  I  can  build  a  little 
house  to  keep  them  in,  down  by  the  side  of  the  brook, 
and  Jerry  says  they  will  lay  more  than  eggs  enough  to 
pay  for  their  keeping.  They  don't  need  so  much 
grain  a&  hens  do.  They  look  real  handsome,  tj»o,  sail- 
l  ig  on  the  water." 

"  WpII,  if  you  ar(^  willing  to  pay  for  them  out  of 


20  CLINTON'S      POULTRY. 

your  own  money,  and  will  provide  a  suitable  place  for 
them,  1  do  n't  know  as  I  shall  object  to  your  keeping  a 
few.  But  it  seems  to-  me  you  might  make  a  better 
bargain  than  you  propose.  Wont  Jerry  sell  you  some 
eggs?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  he  has  any,  yet,  for  he  has  just 
begun  to  keep  ducks ;  but  I  will  ask  him." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Mr.  Davenport,  "  and  if  he  will  sell 
you  a  dozen,  at  a  reasonable  price,  you  may  buy 
them." 

"  But  of  what  use  will  the  eggs  be,  father,  without  a 
duck  to  hatch  them  ?  "  inquired  Clinton. 

"  Never  mind  about  that  now,"  replied  his  father, 
"  you  get  the  eggs  first,  and  then  we  will  see  what  we 
can  do  with  them."  ' 

Clinton  was  already  somewhat  largely  interested  in 
the  poultry  line.  When  he  was  nine  years  old,  his 
father  gave  him  all  the  fowls  belonging  to  the  farm,  on 
condition  that  he  should  assume  the  whole  charge  of 
them,  and  take  good  care  of  them.  There  were  in  all 
about  twenty  hens  and  chickens,  and  half  a  dozen 
young  turkeys.  Mr.  Davenport  agreed  to  pay  Clintoo 
ti}r  all  the  eggs  and  poultry  they  needed  for  the  table, 


HIS     STOCK   IN     TRADE.  2l 

but  Clinton  must  purchase  wftli  his  own  money  what- 
ever was  necessary  for  the  subsistence  of  the  fowls. 
Clinton  was  much  pleased  with  this  arrangement; 
and  as  he  knew  that  when  men  engage  in  business 
they  usually  keep  account  books,  in  which  they  record 
all  the  sums  they  spend  or  receive,  he  procured  a  few 
sheets  of  paper,  with  which  he  made  a  little  blank 
book,  for  this  purpose.  His  first  entry  was  simply  an 
enumeration  of  his  fowls,  with  an  estimate  of  their 
value ;  or,  as  the  merchant  would  call  it,  a  schedule  of 
his  stock  in  trade.     It  was  as  follows :  — - 

Commenced  this  account  July  18th,  1847,  with  the  following 
f  jwls :  — 

1  rooster  and  8  hens,  (old),  worth  SO  cts.  each,  $2,70 

10  pullets,  '*     40         "  4,00 

6  turkeys,  "      75         »*  4,50 


Total  value,  $11,20 

Whenever  he  sold  any  eggs,  he  entered  the  date, 
the  number  sold,  and  the  price,  on  a  page  which  he 
reserved  for  this  purpose.  On  the  opposite  page,  he 
set  down  the  sums  which  he  paid  his  father  for  the 
com  and  meal  consumed  by  his  fowls.  At  the  end  of 
the  first  year,  he  struck  a  balance,  to  use  a  mercantile 


22  DR.     AND    CR.    ACCOUNT. 

expression ;  that  is,  he  acTaed  up  the  various  sums  he 
had  received  and  spent,  and  ascertained  how  much  he 
liad  made  by  the  year's  operations.  His  account  stood 
thus ;  — 

Dk. 

Vahie  of  fowls  on  hand  one  year  ago $1 1,20 

12  bushels  com,  at  75  cts 9,00 

6         "        meal,  at  80  cts 4,80 

4         "        barley,  at  60  cts 2,40 

2         "        potatoes,  at  40  cts 80 

«Meat 92 

Total  cost $29,12 

Cb. 

Now  on  hand,  2  roosters  and  32  hens  and  pullets, 

worth  36  cents  each $12,24 

9  turkeys,  worth  75  cts.  each 6,75 

150  dozen  eggs  sold 22,50 

10  hens  and  chickens  sold,  36  cts.  each 3,60 

6  turkeys  sold  at  83 J  cts.  each 5.00 

2  loads  manure 2,50 

Total  value $52,59 

Kvpenses 29,12 

Profit $23,47 


CLTNTON'SPROFfTS.  23 

Of  this  profit,  $18,99  was  in  the  shape  of  hens  and 
turkeys,  and  $4,48  in  ready  cash,  safely  deposited  in 
the  old  bureau  drawer,  in  Clinton's  bed-room. 

The  second  year,  Clinton  made  a  much  larger  profit 
on  his  poultry,  his  father  having  given  him  a  patch  of 
ground,  where  he  raised  with  his  own  hand  a  crop  of 
corn  sufficient  to  carry  his  fowls  through  the  year.  At 
the  end  of  this  year,  he  had  about  $30,00  in  money, 
which  his  fowls  had  earned  for  him ;  and  as  he  con- 
tinued every  year  to  raise  his  own  grain,  when  he  was 
thirteen  years  old,  he  had  about  $75,00  in  cash,  which, 
at  his  request,  his  father  had  deposited  in  a  bank  in 
Portland,  where  it  earned  him  interest.  In  addition 
to  this,  he  had  about  $25,00  worth  of  hens  and  tur- 
keys;  so  that  the  $11,20  worth  of  fowls  which  his 
father  gave  him,  had,  by  his  own  industry  and  pru- 
dence, swelled  into  $100  in  four  years. 

The  same  afternoon  on  which  the  conversation  upon 
ducks  was  held,  Clinton  managed  to  run  over  to 
Jerry's  again,  to  see  if  he  could  procure  the  eggBo 
Jerry  told  him  he  had  not  now  got  enough  for  a  htter, 
but  w^ould  be  able  to  supply  him  in  a  few  days.     Clin- 


24  OBSTINATESPECKf. 

ton   therefore  ensra^ed  the   first  dozen  he  should  have, 
for  wliich  he  agreed  to  pay  25  cents. 

"  Now,  father,"  said  Clinton  a  few  days  after,  as  he 
uncovered  the  box  of  eggs  for  which  he  had  bargained, 
"  now  I  am  ready  for  you." 

"  You  don't  need  any  assistance,"  replied  IMr. 
Davenport ;  "  all  you  have  got  to  do,  now,  is  to  give 
the  eggs  to  Specky,  and  she  will  do  the  rest." 

Specky  was  one  of  Clinton's  hens,  and  this  name 
was  given  to  her,  on  account  of  her  speckled  feathers. 
She  had  recently  taken  it  into  her  head  that  she 
wanted  to  raise  a  family  of  little  Speckles ;  but  as 
Clinton  did  not  happen  to  coincide  with  her  in  this 
matfer,  she  had  done  nothing  but  make  herself  misera- 
ble for  several  days.  Every  chance  she  could  get,  she 
would  jump  into  the  nest,  and  commence  setting,  as 
though  she  were  determined  to  bring  a  chicken  out  of 
the  chalk  nest-egg.  "When  Clinton  approached  to 
take  her  off  the  nest,  she  would  scream  and  cluck  with 
all  her  might,  which  I  suppose  was  her  way  of  scold- 
ing ;  and  when  he  put  her  down,  she  would  squat  upon 
the   ground,  and   refuse  to  budge  an  inch.     He  was 


B  A  D     M  O  T  H  E  R  S  25 

obliged  to  shut  her  up  alone  in  a  little  coop,  to  reform 
her  bad  manners ;  but  she  had  not  got  over  her  stub- 
bornneftS,  at  the  time  JVIr.  Davenport  told  Clinton  to 
let  her  take  charge  of  the  ducks*  eggs. 

"But,"  said  Clinton,  on  receiving  this  direction, 
**  will  she  set  on  those  eggs  ?** 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  father,  "  she  will  set  on  any  thing 
that  looks  like  an  egg,  and  be  glad  of  the  chance,  too. 
And  besides,  she  will  make  a  better  mother  to  the 
little  ducklings  than  their  real  mother  would  prove. 
The  duck  is  so  fond  of  the  water,  that  when  she  once 
gets  into  it,  she  is  apt  to  forget  all  about  her  eggs,  until 
they  get  cold,  and  are  spoilt.  And  if  she  should  not 
fall  into  this  blunder,  and  hatches  her  brood  success- 
fully, the  first  thing  she  does  is  to  give  the  poor,  weak 
things  a  cold  bath,  no  matter  how  chilly  or  stormy  it 
is.  They  can't  stand  this  rough  treatment  very  well, 
and  for  this  reason  it  is  better  to  let  hens  do  the  set- 
ting and  hatching,  when  there  are  any  ducks  to  be 
raised." 

All  this  was  new  to  Clinton,  as  he  had  never  had 
any  experience  in  the  management  of  the  duck  family. 
He  followed  his  father's  directions,  however,  and  as 

8 


26  THE     VILLAGE     SCHOOL. 

madame  Specky  seemed  delighted  with  the  arrange- 
ment, he  was  satisfied.  The  next  day,  he  set  about 
building  a  house  for  the  expected  new  comers,  down  in 
the  meadow,  by  the  side  of  the  brook.  This  was 
something  of  an  undertaking,  for  a  boy  of  his  age,  but 
he  took  hold  with  a  right  good  will,  and  by  devoting  to 
it  all  the  time  he  could  spare  from  his  other  duties,  he 
had  it  completed,  and  ready  for  the  ducks  to  move  into, 
long  before  they  had  begun  to  show  their  heads. 

At  this  time  Clinton  was  not  attending  school,  for 
the  very  good  reason  that  there  was  no  school  in  the 
place.  The  law  of  the  State  only  required  that  every 
town  should  support  a  public  school  three  months  in 
fehe  year;  and  as  Brookdale  had  but  a  small  and 
scattered  population,  the  people  did  not  think  it  advis- 
able to  continue  theu'  school  any  longer  than  the  win- 
ter term,  which  lasted  from  the  first  of  December  to 
the  first  of  March.  During  this  season  of  the  year, 
the  lads  and  lasses  of  all  ages,  from  six  or  seven  years 
up  to  eighteen  or  twenty,  turned  out  and  attended  the 
Bame  school,  and  made  the  most  qf  their  brief  oppor- 
tunities for  acquiring  knowledge. 

But  though  there  were  nine  months  of  every  year 


STUDYING     AT     HOME.  27 

that  Clinton  did  not  attend  school,  he  was  not  allowed 
to  neglect  his  studies,  during  these  long  vacations. 
Both  of  his  parents  had  received  good  educations  in 
their  youth,  and  they  knew  too  well  the  value  of  the 
benefits  thus  secured,  to  allow  theu'  children  to  grow 
up  in  ignorance.  Mrs.  Davenport  had  once  been  a 
teacher  herself,  and  it  was  now  but  a  pleasant  task  to 
give  Clinton  and  Annie  their  daily  lessons,  and  to 
listen  to  their  recitations.  Mr.  Davenport,  too,  had 
taught  a  school  for  one  or  two  terms,  when  a  young 
man.  The  branches  which  Clinton  was  now  studying, 
were  reading,  writing,  arithmetic,  and  grammar.  He 
was  required  to  devote  two  hours  to  his  studies,  each 
day,  no  matter  how  much  work  he  had  to  do,  or  how 
much  he  wanted  to  play.  In  the  evening  his  mother 
heard  him  recite,  and  gave  him  such  assistance  as  he 
needed.  In  this  way,  he  made  considerable  progress 
in  his  studies,  though  perhaps  he  did  not  learn  as  fast  as 
he  could  had  he  enjoyed  school  privileges  all  the  time. 
During  the  portion  of  the  year  he  attended  school,  he 
always  ranked  above  other  boys  of  his  own  age,  and 
w^as  considered  one  of  the  best  scholars  in  town. 

Clinton  also  performed  a  good  deal  of  work  for  his 


28  C  L  I  X  T  O  N     A  T     W  O  R  K . 

parents,  when  he  did  not  attend  school.  In  the  spring 
he  used  to  drive  the  ploughing  team,  while  his  father 
or  the  hired  man  guided  the  plough  through  the  soiL 
He  likewise  made  himself  very  handy  in  planting 
season  j  and  in  mid-summer  he  could  rake  the  hay  or 
hoe  the  com  and  potatoes,  almost  as  well  as  a  man. 
He  knew  how  to  build  a  stone-wall^  or  to  make  a  com- 
post-heap, or  to  litter  and  feed  the  oxen,  or  to  chop 
wood ;  for  all  these  things,  and  many  others,  he  had 
been  taught  to  do.  He  was  not  required  to  labor  too 
hard,  or  too  long  at  one  time ;  but  his  father  wished 
him  to  learn  to  work  while  young,  believing  he  would 
be  happier  if  he  had  some  useful  employment  for  a 
portion  of  his  leisure  time.  And  Clinton  found  this  to 
be  true.  He  not  only  learned  a  great  many  rseful 
things,  from  his  daily  labors,  but  he  found  tha^  tiler 
working  a  few  hours,  he  could  enjoy  his  sportj  with 
much  more  zest  than  if  he  had  idled  away  all  his  time 
in  trying  to  amuse  himself.  Besides,  it  was  no  little 
satisfaction  to  know  that  he  could  be  of  some  service 
to  his  parents,  to»  whose  care  and  affection  he  was  so 
greatly  indebted. 

It  was  thus  between  work,  study  and  play,  that  Clin 


HIS     CHARACTER.  29 

ton  divided  his  time.  He  was  an  intelligent,  kind- 
hearted,  good-natured,  and  well-meaning  boy,  but  — — 
well,  we  will  for  the  present  drop  the  vail  of  charity 
over  the  unpleasant  truth  which  belongs  to  the  othef 
side  of  that  "  but.** 


(JHAPTER  n. 

JERRY      AND      OSCAR 

A  FFER  Clinton  had  finished  his  duck-house,  he  no- 
ticed that  the  water  was  getting  quite  low  in  the  brook- 
It  was  the  month  of  August,  and  the  season  had  been 
very  hot  and  dry,  so  that  the  springs  in  the  hills,  which 
fed  the  brook,  had  almost  given  out.  While  he  was 
thinking  what  his  ducks  would  do  for  water  if  the 
brook  should  dry  entirely  up,  it  occurred  to  him  that 
he  might  make  a  little  pond,  to  be  filled  from  the  brook, 
which  would  afford  a  good  place  for  his  ducks  to  swim, 
and  might  also  prolong  the  supply  of  water.  Having 
obtained  his  father's  consent,  he  set  about  the  job  at 
once.  He  was  busily  at  work,  digging  out  the  peat  or 
mud  for  this  pond,  one  warm  afternoon,  when  he  hap- 
pened to  look  up  and  saw  two  boys  by  the  side  of  him. 
As  their  eyes  met,  one  of  them  exclaimed,  — 
^  An'  faith,  Patrick,  what  are  ye  after  doin'  now  ? 


THEDUCKPOND.  31 

Is  it  for  goold  ye  are  diggin',  sure  ?  or  are  ye  goln'  to 
make  a  river  of  the  brook  ?  Why  do  n't  ye  spake, 
ye  bogtrotter,  hey  ?  " 

Clinton  laughed  at  this  rough  salutation,  but  per- 
haps he  felt  that  there  was  a  slight  tinge  of  unkindnesd 
ni  the  joke,  as  he  turned  his  eye  from  the  neat  dress 
of  the  speaker,  to  his  own  heavy  boots  loaded  with 
mud,  and  his  coarse  and  well-worn  pantaloons,  the  bot- 
toms of  which  were  tucked  into  his  boots. 

"  But  you  do  look  just  like  a  Paddy,  Clin,  I  '11  leave 
it  to  Jerry  if  you  do  n't,"  continued  the  speaker,  who 
was  a  cousin  of  Jerry  Preston's,  and  was  named  Oscar. 

Jerry  agreed  that  it  was  so.  "  But,"  he  continued, 
"  what  are  you  trying  to  make,  Clin  ?  I  should  really 
like  to  know." 

"  Wait  a  few  days  and  you  will  see,"  replied  Clinton. 

"  The  same  old  story,"  said  Oscar,  " '  wait  and  you  '11 
see ; '  you  need  n't  think  you  can  get  anything  more 
than  that  out  of  him,  Jerry." 

"  I  guess  he  has  taken  a  contract  to  dig  a  cellar  for 
somebody  "  continued  Jerry.  "  See  him  put  in ! "  he 
added,  as  Clinton  resumed  his  work. 

"And  I  guess,"  said  Oscar,  "that  he  isn't  making 


32  ATALKABOUTWORK. 

anythiug  in  particular,  but  is  only  digging  for  amuse- 
ment. What  capital  fun  it  must  be  to  dig  mud  this 
warm  day ! " 

Clinton  made  no  reply  to  their  bantering,  but  kept 
on  digging.  After  a  minute's  pause,  Jerry  resumed 
the  conversation  by  saying,  — 

"  Clin,  you  are  the  queerest  fellow  I  ever  saw.** 

"  How  so  ?  "  inquired  Clinton. 

"  Why,  I  never  come  over  here  but  I  find  you  hard 
at  work  about  something  or  other.  You  must  love  to 
work  better  than  I  do." 

"Yes,  and  stLch  work,  too,"  chimed  in  Oscar; 
"  you're  making  a  complete  clodhopper  of  yourself. 
You  '11  be  an  old  man  before  you  are  a  young  one,  if 
you  do  n't  mind.  Why  does  n't  your  father  make  his 
men  do  this  hard  drudgery,  instead  of  putting  it  upon 
you?'* 

"  My  father  does  n't  make  me  do  this  work,"  replied 
Clinton^;  with  some  spirit ;  "  I  'm  doing  it  for  myself, 
and  of  my  own  accord." 

"  I  suppose  your  father  does  n't  make  you  work  at 
all,"  said  Oscar,  with  a  sneer  in  his  look  and  voice, 
which  Clinton  could  not  fail  to  observe. 


GOING      I  O     THE     T  O  N  D  33 

"  Yes,  he  does  require  me  to  work,"  replied  Clinton, 

but  no  more  than  I  ought  to.     I  have  plenty  of  time 

For    play,  besides  having  a  little   left   for  study,  too, 

which   is  more   than   some  boys,  that   I   know,   caa 

say." 

"  Yes/'  resumed  Oscar,  "  when  you  aint  hard  at 
work,  digging  like  an  Irishman,  your  father  makes  you 
sit  down  in  the  house,  and  mope  over  your  books.  I  'm 
glad  I  hav  n't  got  such  a  father  to  stand  over  me ; 
aint  you,  Jerry  ?  " 

"  I  am  so,"  replied  Jerry.  "  I  do  n't  believe  in 
making  slaves  of  boys.  It  is  time  enough  to  go  to 
work  when  we  get  to  be  men.  I  mean  to  enjoy  myself 
while  I  am  young,  if  I  do  tft  any  other  time.  But 
come,  Oscar,  we  've  stopped^  here  long  enough,  —  let 's 
be  going." 

"  Well,  I  'm  ready,"  said  Oscar,  and  they  began  to 
start  Clinton,  seeing  that  they  were  not  directing 
their  steps  homeward,  inquired  where  they  were  going, 

"  Over  to  the  pond,"  replied  Jerry,  "  to  have  a  swim. 
Come,  wont  you  go  too,  Clinton  ?"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  come  with  us,  Clin,"  said  Oscar ;  "  we  shall 
have  a  fii*st-rate  time  -,  and  as  you  say  you  can  play  aa 


34  ADIFFICULTT. 


much  as  you  please,  there's  nothing  to  prevent  your 


goinf 


5> 


Qinton  did  want  to  go  with  them,  but  his  parents 
and  Annie  had  gone  away  that  afternoon,  leaving  the 
house  in  his  charge,  and  he  thought  it  would  not  be 
right  to  leave  the  premises.  It  was  true,  he  was  not 
expressly  told  not  to  go  off;  but  Clinton  knew  his 
father  expected  him  to  remain  about  the  house  until 
their  return,  as  he  had  left  a  message  to  be  delivered 
to  Mr.  Hardy,  the  blacksmith,  who  was  to  call  at  JNlTr 
Davenport's  that  afternoon.  So,  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, Clinton  answered, — 

"  I  should  like  to  go,  but  I  do  n't  see  how  I  can  to- 
day." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  both  Oscar  and  Jerry  inquired,  at  the 
same  instant. 

Clinton  did  not  like  to  tell  them  his  reason,  for  fear 
they  would  laugh  him  out  of  it.  He  could  not  bear  to 
be  ridiculed,  and  these  boys  knew  it;  for  whenever 
they  wished  to  persuade  him  to  do  anything  he  was 
not  inclined  to  do,  they  generally  resorted  to  this 
weapon  to  effect  their  object.  Accordingly,  they  be- 
gan to  try  its  virtues  in  the  present  case.     Thoy  asked 


I  N     T  H  E     W  A  T  E  R  .  3^ 

him  i(  he  was  afraid  to  go  out  of  sight  of  the  house 
without  his  father's  leave,  and  how  long  he  expected  to 
be  tied  to  his  mothers  apron-strings.  They  had  pro* 
ceeded  in  this  strain  but  a  few  moments,  when  Clin- 
ton's resolution  began  to  give  out.  He  at  first  warmly 
denied  that  he  was  afraid  to  go  ;  and  a  moment  after- 
as  if  to  convince  them,  that  it  was  not  fear  that  kept 
him  at  home,  he  threw  down  his  shovel,  and  ex- 
claimed, — 

"  I  do  n't  care,  — ■  I  believe  I  will  go,  too." 
So,  exchanging  his  thick  boots  for  a  light  pair  of 
shoes,  he  started  for  the  pond  with  the  other  boys.  It 
was  not  a  very  long  walk,  —  taking  the  shortest  path 
through  the  fields,  —  and  they  were  soon  tumbling  and 
plunging  about  in  the  cool  water,  in  high  glee.  Judg- 
ing from  their  shouts  of  laughter,  and  the  merry 
splashing  they  made  in  the  calm  lake,  you  would  have 
supposed  they  were  a  happy  set  of  boys.  But  Clinton, 
at  least,  was  not  quite  so  happy  as  he  seemed.  Somo- 
thing  in  his  breast  told  him  that  he  had  done  wrong  in 
yielding  to  the  solicitations  of  his  comrades.  Thn 
louder  he  laughed,  the  more  plainly  did  he  hear  th** 
voice  w'thin,  saying,  "  Ah !  Clinton,  you  have  made  « 


3G  CONSCIENCE    AT     WORK. 

false  step;  you  have  yielded  to  a  foolish  temptation; 
you  have  disobeyed  your  father  ;  you  have  betrayed 
his  confidence,  —  and  all  for  a  few  moments'  gratifica- 
tion." He  tried  to  drive  these  unpleasant  thoughts 
from  his  mind,  but  they  would  not  leave  him.  He  waa 
careful,  however,  not  to  let  his  companions  see  any 
traces  of  his  uneasiness. 

When  they  had  been  in  the  water  nearly  an  hour, 
Clinton  proposed  returning  home ;  but  neither  Oscaj* 
nor  Jerry  seemed  inclined  to  do  so.  After  waiting  a 
little  longer;  Clinton  concluded  to  go  home  alone,  and 
proceeded  to  dry  and  dress  himself.  The  other  boys 
were  so  absorbed  in  their  sport,  that  they  scarcely 
noticed  what  he  was  doing. 

Just  as  Clinton  was  about  to  start  for  home,  Oscar 
took  it  into  his  head  to  have  a  sail  on  the  lake.  There 
was  a  sail-boat  anchored  a  little  way  from  the  shore, 
near  where  they  were  bathing,  which  belonged  to 
Squire  Walcott.  Oscar  proposed  to  take  possession  of 
this  boat,  and  Jerry  readily  fell  in  with  his  plan.  The 
w'ater  where  the  boat  lay  was  so  shallow  they  could 
wade  out  to  it ;  so  they  proceeded  to  dress  themselves, 
preparatory  to  their  excursion.     Clinton  knew  that  tha 


SAILINGONTHE     TOND.  37 

Squire  was  very  obliging,  and  was  always  willing  to 
lend  his  boat  to  any  one  who  knew  how  to  manage  it ; 
and  he  was  sorry  that  the  boys  were  going  to  take  it 
without  leave.  Indeed,  he  even  remonstrated  with 
them  about  it.  But  the  only  reply  he  got,  was  this 
from  Oscar:  — 

"  Who  cares  for  old  Walcott  ?  Besides,  he  need  n't 
know  anything  about  it,  unless  you  go  and  tell  him 
You  may  go  home,  if  you  choose,  but  I'm  bound  to 
have  a  sail." 

Clinton  got  home  before  his  parents  returned ;  and, 
fortunately  for  him,  Mr.  Hardy  came  along  soon  after, 
and  the  message  was  delivered,  so  that  this  burden 
was  removed  from  his  conscience.  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, feel  exactly  right  in  his  mind;  for  though  no 
harm  had  resulted  from  his  absence,  he  had  been 
guilty  of  something  like  a  breach  of  trust,  and  his 
conscience  continued  to  reprove  him. 

Jerry  and  Oscar  amused  themselves  on  the  pond,  tor 
an  hour  longer ;  but  though  both  of  them  attempted  to 
act  the  skipper,  neither  knew  much  about  managing  a 
boat,  and  the  result  was,  they  run  themselves  aground, 
at  a  place  where  the  bottom  was  soft  mud,  and  were 

4 


88 


A   BAD    ENDING 


unable  to  "-et  afloat  again.  It  was  half  a  mile  from 
tlieir  starting  place,  and  they  did  not  know  how  they 
should   get  the   boat   back   to   its   anchoring   ground. 


They  got  into  the  water,  and  tried  to  push  it  off,  but  it 
refused  to  go.  At  length,  wearied  with  their  exertions, 
aiid  with  their  clothes  wet  and  dirty,  they  concluded  to 
wade  ashore,  and  leave  the  stolen  boat  to  take  care  of 
itself.  In  going  home,  they  avoided  the  road,  as  much 
as  possible,  and  skulked  through  the  woods,  lest  they 


WHAT    TIIEY   THOUGHT    OF   IT.  39 

should  be  seen  ;  but  after  they  had  reached  their  home, 
and  considered  themselves  beyond  the  danger  of  die* 
covery,  they  began  to  treat  the  affair  as  a  joke,  and 
laughed  to  think  how  mad  "oldWalcott"  would  be, 
when  he  found  his  boat  aground,  half  a  mile  from  the 
place  where  it  belonged.  They  did  not  seem  to  realize 
that  they  had  acted  meanly  and  wickedly,  in  taking 
possession  without  leave,  of  Squire  Walcott's  boat,  and  in 
leaving  it  aground,  without  informing  him  of  its  where- 
abouts. If  they  could  escape  detection,  it  mattered 
little  to  them  whether  their  conduct  had  been  right  or 
wrong. 

These  two  boys  were  unlike  Clinton,  in  many  re- 
spects. Jerry,  —  or,  to  give  him  his  full  name,  Jere- 
miah Preston,  —  lived  in  the  nearest  farm-house  to 
Mr.  Davenport's.*  There  was  more  than  half  a  mile's 
distance  between  the  two  families  ;  but  as  there  were 
no  nearer  neighbors,  they  were  on  pretty  intimate 
terms.  Jerry  was  but  a  few  months  older  than  Clin- 
ton, and  the  two  boys  had  been  playmates  almost  from 
the  cradle.     Mr.  Preston  was  engaged  in  the  logging 

*  See  the  map  on  page  14.     Clinton's  home  is  numbered  I, 
and  Jerry's  2.     The  building  numbered  3  is  the  gchool-housd. 


40  JEHRYANDOSCAR. 

find  lumbering  business,  wliich  required  him  to  bo 
away  from  home,  in  the  forests,  a  large  portion  of  the 
year.  As  Jerry  s  mother  did  not  succeed  very  well  in 
governing  her  household,  the  long  and  frequent  absen- 
ces of  Mr.  Preston  from  his  family  were  unfortunate 
for  the  children,  especially  for  Jerry,  who  was  the 
eldest  child,  and  the  only  son.  During  the  few  months 
of  each  year  the  father  spent  at  home,  he  was  mor<' 
inclined  to  humor  his  children,  than  to  train  them  t( 
obedience.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  in  a  moment  of  pas- 
sion, he  would  punish  Jerry  severely,  for  some  offence ; 
but  at  another  time,  he  would  entirely  overlook  a  much 
more  serious  fault.  Under  the  influence  of  this  bad 
training,  it  is  not  strange  that  Jerry  was  getting  to  be 
an  ungovernable  and  mischievous  boy. 

Oscar  Preston  was  a  cousin  to  Jerry,  who  had  re- 
cently come  from  Boston,  to  spend  a  few  months  in 
Brookdale.  He  was  about  a  year  older  than  Jerry,  in 
age,  but  was  several  years  his  senior  in  bad  habits. 
He  had  in  fact  become  almost  unmanageable  at  home, 
and  it  was  on  this  account,  as  well  as  to  get  him  away 
from  the  evil  influences  of  the  city,  that  his  father  sent 
him  into  the  country.     He  had  never  been  taught  to 


INFLUENCE    OFABADBOT.  41 

labor,  and  as  he  now  liad  nothing  to  do,  and  there  was 
no  school  to  attend,  and  no  one  to  restrain  him,  he  did 
not  seem  to  grow  much  better  by  his  banishment  from 
home.  It  is  said  that  idleness  is  the  mother  of  mis- 
chisf,  and  Oscar  furnished  daily  proof  of  the  truth  of 
the  saying.  His  adventure  with  the  boat  is  but  a 
specimen  of  the  way  in  which  he  amused  himself. 

The  influence  of  Oscar  Preston  upon  the  other  boya 
in  the  village,  and  especially  upon  Jerry,  from  whom 
he  was  seldom  separated,  soon  became  very  percepti- 
ble. He  had  seen  more  of  the  world  than  they,  and 
never  wearied  of  telling  of  the  wonders  of  the  city, 
often  exaggerating  his  stories,  to  make  them  the  more 
marvellous.  In  addition  to  this,  he  was  naturally 
bright  and  intelligent,  and  was  more  genteelly  dressed 
than  the  village  boys ;  but  the  qualities  that  con- 
tributed most  to  his  influence  over  his  associates,  were 
his  daring  spirit,  and  his  imperious,  commanding  bear- 
ing, which  seemed  to  mark  him  for  a  leader.  But  he 
had  been  permitted  to  have  his  own  way  so  long  ai 
home,  that  he  had  become  headstrong  and  unmanage- 
able ;  and  his  evil  passions  were  daily  growing 
stronger,  while  the  voice  of  conscience  within  him  waa 

4* 


42  DANGERSAHEAD. 

as  rai3idlj  becoming  wejiker.  It  is  sad,  ind/ed,  to  see 
a  youth  growing  up  in  this  manner,  for  he  is  like  the 
sailor  who  should  go  to  sea  in  a  frail  bt^at,  without 
anchor,  rudder,  or  compass.  He  may  be  delivered  from 
early  destruction,  through  the  mercy  of  Providence 
but  he  will  not  escape  many  struggles  and  losaus. 


CHAPTER  m. 


TEMPTATION. 


pLINTON^S  brood  of  'ducks  at  length  made  their 
appearance,  just  one  month  after  he  had  put   the 
eggs  to  the  hen.     There  were  eight  of  them,  four  of 
the  eggs  having  produced  nothing.     If  madame  Specky 
was   a   Httle   astonished   at   the   singular   appearance 
which  her  children  presented,  she  kept  it  all  to  herself, 
like  a  good,  prudent  mother,  for  she  behaved  toward 
them  just  the   same  as   though  they  were  ordinary 
chickens.       She    did   not    appear    to   think   anything 
strange  of  their  large  bills,  or  their  clumsy,  webbed 
feet,  or  their  awkward,  waddling  gait.     If  a  dog  or 
cat  ventured  near  them,  or  a  hawk  happened  to  sail 
through  the  air,  hen  never  put  on  bolder  front  than 
did  mistress  Specky.     And  there  was  need  enough  for 
all   her  courage,  for  her  young  family  had  so  little 


4i  THE    LITTLE    DUCKS. 

coutrol  over  their  big  foet,  that  they  never  could  have 
saved  themselves  by  their  legs,  had  a  foe  invaded  the 
j)remises. 

For  several  days  after  the  ducks  were  hatched,  they 
continued  about  the  poultry-yard,  ignorant  as  yet  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  water,  except  as  they  had 
made  its  acquaintance  in  the  little  tin  pan  from  which 
they  were  accustomed  to  drink.  Clinton's  father  had 
told  him  that  it  was  a  good  plan  to  keep  them  from 
water  for  the  first  three  or  four  days,  as  they  were  so 
tender  as  to  be  easily  injured  by  cold  and  dampness. 
On  the  fifth  day,  CUnton  concluded  to  introduce  them 
to  their  new  home  ;  so,  gathering  up  the  ducklings  into 
a  basket,  and  taking  the  hen  under  his  arm,  he  carried 
them  down  to  the  brook,  where  he  had  made  the  duck- 
house  and  pond  before-mentioned.     It  was  now  about 

the  middle  of  September,  and  the  brook  was  nearly 

I 

dry;  but  the  little  round  pond  contained  plenty  of 
water.  This  pond  received  all  the  water  that  came 
down  in  the  brook  ;  and  there  was  a  dam,  at  the  lower 
side  of  it,  so  that  the  water  could  not  pass  on  its  way, 
until  it  had  filled  the  pond,  and  flowed  over  the  dam. 
The  pond  was  thus  kept  full,  aU  the  time,  but  it  could 


THEIll     FIRST     DUCKING.  43 

be  oasily  emptied,  when  necessary,  by  opening  a  gate 
which  Clinton  had  made  in  the  dam. 

Clinton  had  no  sooner  deposited  his  basket  of  duck- 
lings by  the  side  of  the  pond,  than  they  all  seemed 
possessed  to  get  into  the  water.  Away  they  ran,  pell 
mell,  and  before  their  cautious  and  anxious  mother 
could  warn  them  of  their  danger,  every  one  of  them 
had  launched  away  into  the  new  element.  And  now 
they  were  as  graceful  and  beautiful  as  they  had  been 
ungainly  and  ugly.  They  glided  along  over  the  water 
as  naturally  and  elegantly  as  does  the  new  ship  on  its 
first  entrance  upon  its  destined  element.  Annie,  who 
had  come  to  witness  the  scene,  was  delighted  with  the 
sight,  and  clapped  her  hands  in  glee,  exclaiming :  — 

"  0,  is  n't  it  beautiful,  Clinty?  Look !  look !  see  that 
cunning  little  one  duck  its  head  into  the  water ! '' 

"  Yes,"  said  Clinton,  without  turning  to  look  at  the 
sight  which  so  pleased  Annie,  "  yes,  and  only  see  what 
a  fuss  the  old  hen  is  making  on  the  bank !  Look 
quick!  Ha,  ha,  ha!"  and  the  boy,  whose  love  of  the 
ludicrous  was  as  strong  as  his  sister's  love  of  the  beau- 
tiful, burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  Nor  did  he  laugh 
without  a  reason.     Madame  Specky,  good,  honest  old 


46 


AN     EXCITING     SCENE. 


hen  tliat  she  was,  had  never  seen  such  strange  doings 
before,  and  she  was  greatly  alarmed  for  the  safety  of 
her  brood.  So  she  stood  by  the  side  of  the  pond, 
clucking  and  calling  with  all  her  might,  and  with  her 
wings  partially  opened,  as  if  to  receive  back  her 
naughty  children.  Her  neck  was  stretched  out  yearn- 
ingly towards  them,  and  she  was  so  excited  that  she 
could  not  stand  still  a  moment,  but  kept  dancing,  like 
a  boy  whose  legs  are  undergoing  that  peculiar  tingling 
sensation  produced  by  a  smart  switching  with  a  birch 
rod.  There  was  horror  in  her  eye,  and  frenzy  in  her 
attitude.  But  the  little  ducks,  who  were  the  innocent 
authors  of  all  this  alarm,  were  sailing  about  as  calmly 
as  though  nothing  unusual  had  happened.  Clinton 
and  Annie  remained  with  them  a  long  time,  now  ad- 
miring the  graceful  movements  of  the  ducks,  and  now 
laughing  at  the  distraction  of  the  old  hen,  as  she  tried 
in  vain  to  call  them  ashore.  After  a  while,  Clinton 
carried  them  all  -to  the  duck-house,  and  shut  them  np 
for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  that  they  might  get  used 
to  their  new  home. 

Mr.  Davenport  was  at  this  time  engaged  in  getting 
a  p/ece  of  land  ready  for  a  crop  of  winter  wheat,  and 


W  I  N  T  E  R     W  n  E  A  T  .  47 

he  required  the  assistance  of  Clint/Dn  a  considerable 
portion  of  each  day.  The  field  had  to  be  broken  up 
and  manured,  and  the  soil  finely  pulverized,  to  prepare 
it  for  the  seed,  which  must  be  sown  early  in  the  fall, 
and  not  in  the  spring,  like  most  other  seeds.  JSIr. 
Davenport  always  did  thoroughly  wliatever  he  under- 
took. His  motto  was,  "  If  a  thing  is  worth  doing  at 
all,  it  is  worth  doing  well ; "  and  a  very  good  motto  it 
is.  Clinton  sometimes  thought  his  fath(;r  was  more 
particular  about  his  work  than  was  necessary ;  he  cer- 
tainly took  more  pains  than  some  of  his  neighbors  did. 
But  somehow  or  other,  he  always  seemed  to  get  paid 
back  liberally  for  his  extra  care,  by  better  and  larger 
crops  than  those  could  show  who  were  less  particular 
about  their  work.  Mr.  Davenport  was,  especially 
anxious  to  have  the  ground  well  prepared  for  this 
crop,  because  it  was  an  experiment ;  he  never  before 
having  attempted  to  raise  winter  wheat.  Indeed,  but 
very  little  of  this  grain  had  ever  been  raised  in  the 
State,  and  it  was  yet  uncertain  whether  the  climate 
was  favorable  to  its  production.  He  therefore  de- 
termined to  give  it  a  fair  trial,  not  only  to  satisfy  hia 
own  mind,  but  that  others  might  be  benefited  by  the 


48  APROPOSITION. 

experiment ;  for  if  lie  and  his  neighbors  could  raise, 
their  own  flour,  instead  of  sending  several  hundred 
miles  for  it,  he  thought  it  was  very  important  that  they 
should  know  it.  Were  it  not  for  such  men  as  he,  who 
are  willing  to  enter  into  patient  and  careful  experi- 
ments, for  the  common  benefit,  the  world  would  make 
but  slow  progress  in  improvement.  » 

The  land  was  at  length  about  ready  for  the  seed. 
Clinton  had  worked  pretty  hard  for  several  days,  and 
as  the  family  arose  from  their  noon  meal,  Mr.  Daven- 
port said :  — 

"  Well,  Clinty,  I  hope  you  wont  get  sick  of  raising 
wheat  before  we  have  planted  it.  You  have  had  a 
pretty  hard  time,  and  I  think  you  must  be  tired.  You 
need  not  go  into  the  field  this  afternoon,  but  you  may 
tackle  up  Fanny,  and  drive  over  to  Mr.  Fletcher's,  and 
get  the  seed-wheat  that  I  bought  of  him.  Get  back  as 
early  as  you  can,  as  I  want  to  have  the  seed  cleaned 
to-night,  and  ready  to  put  into  the  ground  to-morrow 
morning." 

Clinton  was  not  sorry  to  hear  this  announcement  of 
Lis  afternoon's  work  ;  for  though  he  was  not  a  lazy  boy, 
it  really  seemed  to  him,  that  just  then  a  ride  to  the 


THE     CROSS-ROADS.  49 

Cross-Roads  would  be  quite  as  pleasant  as  an  after- 
noon spent  at  work  in  the  field.  So  Fanny  was  soon 
harnessed  into  the  wagon,  and  Clinton  started  on  his 
errand. 

I^lr.  Fletcher  was  a  trader,  who  kept  a  store  at  the 
Cross-Roads,  —  a  place  where  two  of  the  main  high- 
ways of  the  county  cross  each  other  at  right  angles, 
thus  -j-.*  Quite  a  thrifty  little  village  had  sprung  up 
at  this  point,  boasting,  among  other  things,  a  school- 
house,  a  church,  a  post-office,  and  a  "  variety  store." 
It  was,  in  fact,  the  centre  of  life  and  business  for  the 
surrounding  dozen  miles.  Though  about  five  miles 
from  Mr.  Davenport's  house,  there  was  no  other  store 
or  church  within  twice  the  distance.  His  family,  conse- 
quently, had  almost  come  to  regard  the  Cross-Roads 
settlement  as  a  part  of  their  own  village,  though  it  was 
actually  situated  in  another  township.  ' 

Clinton  had  not  driven  half  way  to  his  destination, 
when  he  discovered  two  lads  in  advance  of  him,  walk- 
ing the  same  way  he  was  going.  On  coming  up  with 
them,  he  found  that  they  were  Oscar  and  Jerry,  who 

*  See  the  Map  of  Brookdale,  p.  14. 


50  OSCARANDJERRT. 

were  out  on  a  gunning  excursion,  —  Oscar  having  boi« 
rowed  a  fowling-piece  of  a  young  man  who  lived  near 
ilr.  Preston's. 

"  Halloo,  Clin,  give  us  a  ride,"  exclaimed  Oscar,  as 
the  wagon  drew  up  to  them  ;  and  without  further  cere* 
mony,  both  boys  jumped  into  the  vehicle. 

"  "Where  are  you  going  ? "  inquired  Clinton,  as  he 
started  the  horse. 

"  O,  wherever  you  please,  —  w^e  are  not  at  all  par- 
ticular," replied  Oscar.  "  Jerry  and  I  have  been  try- 
ing to  pop  off  some  birds,  this  afternoon,  but  the  little 
fools  wont  stop  long  enough  to  let  us  shoot  them." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  it,"  replied  Clinton,  dryly. 

"  "Why  are.  you  glad  ?  "  asked  Jerry. 

"  Because  it 's  too  bad  to  shoot  them,"  replied  Clin- 
ton. "  I  like  to  see  and  hear  them  too  well,  to  harm 
them.  If  I  could  have  my  way.  there  should  n't  be  a 
bird  shot,  unless  they  were  crows  or  hawks,  or  some- 
thing of  that  kind." 

"  Pooh,"  said  Os  2ar  ;  "  I  should  like  to  know  what 
birds  were  made  for,  if  it  wasn't  to  be  shot.  You 
do  n't  know  what  fine  sport  it  is  to  shoot  them,  or  yon 
would  be  as  fond  of  gunning  as  I  am." 


GUNNING.  Oi 

Oscar  had  |)robably  shot  half  a  dozen  poor  little 
birds  in  the  course  of  his  life,  and  severely  frightened 
as  many  more.  But  he  had  got  the  idea  that  gunning 
was  a  fine,  manly  amusement,  and  he  already  fancied 
himself  to  be  quite  an  accomplished  sportsman.  And 
if  the  disposition  could  have  made  him  a  successful 
hunter,  he  would  have  been  one  ;  for  he  wanted  to  take 
the  life  of  every  bird  and  squirrel  that  he  saw.  He 
soon  found,  however,  that  it  was  easier  to  fire  than  to 
hit;  and  in  most  of  his  excursions,  his  powder-flask 
was  emptied  much  faster  than  his  game-bag  was 
filled. 

The  boys  continued  their  conversation,  and  soon 
reached  the  Cross-Roads.  Driving  the  wagon  up  to 
Mr.  Fletcher's  store,  Clinton  alighted,  but  on  trying 
the  door,  he  found  it  locked.  Mr.  Fletcher  had  evi- 
dently stepped  out  for  a  few  minutes,  and  Chnton  was 
about  to  hitch  the  horse  to  the  post,  and  await  his  re 
turn,  when  Oscar  proposed  driving  round  to  the 
"  Falls,"  instead  of  waiting  there.  Clinton  at  first  re 
fused ;  but  Jerry  and  Oscar  both  joined  in  the  request 
so  earnestly,  that  he  soon  began  to  parley  and  hesi- 
tate, and  finally  ended  by  reluctantly  yielding  to  theii 


52  A    RIDE    TO     THE    FALLS. 

proposition.      He  accordingly  jumped  into  the  wagon« 
and  turned  the  face  of  Fanny  towards  the  Falls. 

The  lake,  or  pond,  which  has  been  before  alluded  to, 
has  one  outlet,  —  a  little  stream  which  flows  away  in  a 
south-westerly  direction,  finally  discharging  into  a 
larger  river,  which  finds  its  way  to  the  ocean.  This 
little  stream,  which  goes  by  the  simple  name  of  "  The 
River,"  in  Brookdale,  passes  near  by  the  Cross-Roads. 
About  a  mile  beyond  that  village,  it  comes  to  a  wild, 
romantic,  down-hill  place,  where  the  waters  tumble 
about,  and  frolic  among  the  rocks,  as  though  they 
really  enjoyed  the  sport.  This  place  is  called  "  The 
Falls,"  the  descent  of  the  river  here  being  very 
marked.  It  is  off  from  the  common  roads,  the  only 
way  of  reaching  it  being  by  a  "  wood-road," — a  sort  of 
path  through  the  forest,  used  by  the  teams  in  hauling 
wood.  The  very  seclusion  of  the  spot,  however,  made 
it  the  more  charming,  and  it  was  often  resorted  to  by 
pleasure  parties  in  the  summer. 

The  road  through  the  w^oods  being  narrow  and 
rough,  Clinton  could  not  drive  very  swiftly  ;  but  he 
ftud  his  companions  talked  fast  enough  to  make  up  for 
iheir  slow  progress.     They  had  rot   proceeded  very 


THE     CIGARS.  53 

far  in  this  road,  when  Oscar  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
Bmall  package,  enveloped  in  a  piece  of  paper,  which 
he  began  to  unroll  slowlj,  and  with  a  very  knowing 
and  significant  look.  The  contents  proved  to  be  three 
cigars.    Holding  them  out  in  his  hand,  he  exclaimed :  — 

"  How  lucky !  just  one  a-piece.  Now,  boys,  for  a 
good  smoke.  Take  one,  Clin ;  and  here,  Jerry,  is  one 
for  you." 

Jerry  took  the  cigar  offered,  but  Clinton  shook  his 
head,  saying  that  he  did  not  smoke. 

"  You  do  n't  know  what  you  lose,  then,"  said  Oscar. 
"  I've  smoked  these  two  or  three  years,  and  I  couldn't 
live  without  my  cigar,  now.  You  can 't  imagine  how 
much  pleasure  there  is  in  it.  Come,  just  try  this,  and 
see  if  it  is  n't  nice." 

"No,"  replied  Clinton,  « I  don't  wish  to.  Father 
hates  tobacco,  in  every  shape,  and  he  would  n't  Hke  it 
if  he  knew  I  smoked." 

"  But  this  is  all  prejudice,"  added  Oscar.  •"  Smoking 
never  hurt  me,  yet,  and  nobody  can  make  me  believe 
that  there  is  any  harm  in  it.  I  felt  a  little  sickish  for  a 
few  minutes,  the  first  time,  but  that  was  nothing. 
Come,  try  it,  Clin,"  he  added,  as  he  drew  a  match  from 


54  YIELDING    TO     TEMPTATION. 

his  pocket,  aud  lighted  his  own  cigar;  "try  it — it 
can't  hurt  you,  —  and  besides,  your  father  needn't 
know  anything  about  it.'* 

"  Here  goes  mine,"  said  Jerry,  as  he  touched  off  a 
match,  and  applied  the  fire  to  his  cigar.  "J^  father 
wont  object,  I  know,  for  he  smokes  himself  like  every- 
thing ;  and  if  he  did  object,  I  guess  it  would  n't  make 
much  difference.  I  do  n't  intend  to  be  a  boy  all  my 
life-time." 

The  two  young  smokers  were  soon  puffing  away 
in  good  earnest.  Oscar  w'as  an  old  hand  at  the 
business,  and  Jerry  had  been  practising  pretty  dili- 
gently since  his  city  cousin  came  to  live  with  him. 
Between  each  whiff,  however,  they  renewed  their  as- 
saults upon  the  good  resolution  of  their  comrade  ;  and 
so  skilfully  and  perseveringly  did  they  conduct  the  at- 
tack, that  Clinton,  after  a  while,  began  to  think  it 
looked  a  little  unsocial  and  obstinate  to  refuse  to  par- 
ticipate in  their  enjoyment.  By  the  time  they  had 
reached  the  Falls,  he  had  concluded  to  yield  to  their 
wishes.  He  accordingly  drove  Fanny  into  the  water, 
and  unhitched  her  bridle,  that  she  might  diink  and 
cool  herself.     The  three  boys  then  threw  themselves 


A    NEW    SENSATION.  55 

down  upou  the  grass,  beneath  a  large  tree,  and  pre- 
pared to  enjoy  the  scene,  and  at  the  same  time  repose 
tlleir  limbs.  Clinton  lighted  his  cigai*,  —  and  now 
commenced  his  first  experience  in  tobacco.  He  was 
pleased  with  the  new  sensation ;  and  as  he  lay  upon 
his  back,  watching  the  delicate  wreaths  of  smoke 
ascending  from  his  cigar,  and  listening  to  Oscar,— 
who  was  spinning  out  one  of  his  long  yarns  about  a 
military  muster  he  once  witnessed  in  Boston,  —  the 
time  flew  by  much  faster  than  he  was  aware.  His 
cigar  had  half  disappeared,  and  those  of  his  compan 
ions  were  nearly  used  up,  when  he  happened  to  notice 
that  the  ^un  was  fast  declining,  and  would  soon  go 
down  behind  the  tops  of  the  tall  pines  on  the  other  side 
of  the  stream.  Tossing  his  cigar  into  the  water,  he 
jumped  up,  saying  :  — 

"  Come,  boys,  this  wont  do,  —  we  must  be  on  our 
war  home." 

"  What 's  your  hurry  ? "  inquired  Jerry ;  "  it  is  R*t 
four  o'clock  yet." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  n't,"  replied  Clinton,  "  but  I  ough'.  io 
have  been  at  home  by  this  time.  Come,  jump  in,  and 
J  will  turn  th§  horse  round." 


56  A  .\  O  T  IJ  i:  R     N  i:  AV     SENSATION. 


o 


The  boys  got  into  the  wagon,  and  were  soon  tlouly 
tlireading  their  way  out  of  the  woods.  .  In  about  half 
tin  hour  they  reached  Mr.  Fletcher's,  where  Clinton 
stojjped,  and  got  the  bags  of  seed.  He  had  now  a 
pretty  good  load,  and  much  of  the  way  being  up  hil\ 
he  did  not  get  along  very  fast.  Oscar  and  Jerry 
talked  as  fast  as  usual,  but  Clinton  looked  sober,  and 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  say  much.  Indeed,  he  hardly 
spoke  to  them,  from  the  time  they  left  the  store  until 
they  reached  the  house  where  Oscar  and  Jerry  lived- 
when  he  bade  them  good  afternoon,  and  drove  on. 

The  fact  was,  Clinton  was  suffering  the  penalty  of 
bis  first  cigar,  but  he  did  not  like  to  confess  ft,  and  this 
was  the  reason  why  he  said  nothing.  Soon  after  be 
started  from  the  Falls,  he  began  to  experience  a  eink- 
ing,  nauseating  feeling  in  his  stomach,  and  every  jolt 
and  jerk  of  the  wagon  seemed  to  increase  it.  He  con- 
cealed his  feelings  from  Oscar  and  Jerry,  as  much  as 
he  could,  and  after  they  had  alighted,  he  hurried  home 
as  fast  as  possible. 

It  was  past  six  o'clock  when  Clinton  drove  into  the  yard 
at  home.  His  father,  who  had  begun  to  feel  anxious 
ftt  his  long  absence,  had  come  in  from-  the  field,  and 


HALF    THE    TRUTH.  57 

Oil  seeing  Clinton,  he  called  out  to  hiir,  somewluit 
sliarplj,  • 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  the  afternoon,  Clinton  ? 
IVe  been  waiting  for  you  more  than  two  hours." 

"  Mr.  Fletcher  was  n't  there,  and  I  had  to  wait  for 
Lim,"  replied  Clinton.  "  Besides,  it  was  so  warm  I 
thought  I  would  n't  drive  very  fast."  Ah,  Clinton, 
have  you  forgotten  that  it  is  a  falsehood  to  tell  but  half 
the  truth  ? 

Clinton  had  begun  to  unharness  the  horse,  when  he 
became  so  faint  and  dizzy  that  he  was  obhged  to  stop ; 
and  before  he  could  get  into  the  house,  he  began  to 
vomit.  His  father,  hearing  the  noise,  ran  to  his  aid, 
and  led  him  into  the  house.  The  pale,  deathly<look 
of  Clinton,  as  his  father  assisted  him  into  the  sitting- 
room,  was  the  first  notice  his  mother  received  that  he 
was  ill.  She  was  somewhat  startled  by  the  suddenness 
of  liis  entrance,  and  at  first  thought  that  he  had  got 
hart. 

"Mercy  on  us!  what  has  happened?"  was  her  nist 
exclamation. 

"Nothing  alarming," -replied  Clinton  ;  "I  am  a  little. 
Bick  at  my  stomach  —  that  is  all.'*  - 


58  PAKENTAL     SOLICITUDE. 

"How  long  have  you  been  so  ?"  inquired  bis  motber. 

'•  Only  a  little  while,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  have  n't 
felt  very  smart  for  an  hour  or  two,  but  just  as  I  got 
home  I  began  to  grow  worse,  and  have  been  vomit- 


ing. 


"Have  you  eaten  any  thing  this  afternoon?"  in- 
quired Mr.  Davenport. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Clinton,  "  nothing  since  dinner." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  has  worked  too  hard  lately,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Davenport  to  her  husband.  "  You  have 
kept  him  at  it  pretty  steadily  for  a  week  past,  and 
you  know  he  is  n't  so  rugged  as  many  boys  are.  I 
would  n't  allow  him  to  work  so  hard  again." 

"  He  has  been  working  pretty  hard,  I  know,"  observed 
Mr.  Davenport ;  "  but  he  has  never  complained  before, 
and  I  did  not  suppose  he  suffered  from  it.  I  do  n't 
think  this  is  anything  serious,  wife  —  he  needs  a  httle 
physic,  perhaps,  or  something  of  that  sort,  to  regulate 
his  system." 

While  this  conversation  was  taking  place,  Clinton 
£at  in  the  rocking-chair,  leaning  his  head  upon  his 
hand.  Little  Annie  stood  by^his  side,  silent  and  sad, 
her  large,  loving  eyes  looking  up  wonderingly  at  her 


WHAT     CONSCIENCE     SAID.  59 


<•* 


bick  brother.  But  lie  did  not  notice  her.  He  was 
thinking  very  earnestly  of  something  else.  His  ox)n- 
science  was  busily  at  work,  reproaching  him  for  his 
conduct  during  the  afternoon.  "  You  disobeyed  your 
father,"  it  plainly  said,  "  by  going  over  to  the  Falls.; 
when  he  told  you  to  come  right  home.  You  deceived 
him,  after  you  got  home,  by  not  giving  the  true  reason 
for  your  long  absence.  You  made  yourself  sick  by 
smoking  that  cigar,  and  now  you  sit  still  and  hear  your 
parents,  in  their  sympathy  and  solicitude,  attribute 
your  illness  to  hard  work.  O  Clinton,  you  have  not 
only  done  very  wrong,  but  you  have  done  it  very 
meanly,  too  !  No  wonder  you  cover  up  your  face,  and 
dare  not  meet  the  eye  of  your  parents." 

Thus  was  conscience  talking.  At  first,  Clinton  al- 
most resolved  to  confess  the  whole  story  of  his  wrong- 
doings. "  Do  it,"  said  conscience ;  but  shame  whis- 
pered, "  no,  do  n't  expose  yourself —  you  will  soon  feel 
better,  and  the  whole  affair  will  be  forgotten  in  a  day 
or  two."  The  longer  he  hesitated,  between  these  two 
advisers,  the  less  inclined  did  he  feel  to  make  the  con- 
fession. .  Hi^  father  soon  went  out,  to  put  up  the  horse, 
and  his  mother  set  about  preparing  him  a  bowl  of 


60  GOOD-NIGHT. 

tliorougliwort  tea  —  her  favorite  medicine,  in  all  com- 
mon forms  of  sickness.  Clinton  already  began  to  fee^ 
much  better,  and  on  the  whole  he  thought  he  would 
say  i')thing  about  the  adventures  of  the  afternoon* 
When  his  mother  brought  him  the  herb  tea,  he  drank 
it  down  as  fast  as  possible,  but  he  could  not  help  mak- 
ing a  wry  face  over  it,  for  it  was  not  very  palatable  to 
his  taste.  His  mother  thought  he  had  better  go  to 
bed  early,  and  without  eating  any  supper,  and  he  com- 
plied with  her  wishes.  Just  as  he  was  beginning  to 
doze,  a  gentle,  timid  voice  awakened  him,  saying, 

"  Clinty,  you  wont  be  sick,  will  you  ? " 

"  No,  sis,"  he  answered,  and  with  a  parting  "  good- 
night," he  fell  asleep  —  not  the  sweet,  calm  sleep  to 
which  he  was  accustomed,  but  fitful,  troubled  dreams, 
in  which  the  unpleasant  events  of  the  afternoon  flitted 
before  him,  in  an  exaggerated  and  grotesque,  but  al- 
ways sad  and  reproachful  panorama. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CRIME. 


A  N  icicle  is  hanging  over  the  window  by  which  I 
write.  A  day  or  two  ago,  it  was  hardly  percep- 
tible, but  it  has  gone  on,  increasing  in  size,  until  now  it 
is  as  large  round  as  my  arm,  and  full  as  long.  It  is 
nothing,  however,  but  an  innumerable  collection  of 
little  drops  of  water,  frozen  together.  One  by  one 
they  chased  each  other  down  the  roof  above,  but  on 
coming  to  the  cold  icicle,  they  became  chilled,  and 
were  congealed  into  a  part  of  itself,  some  of  them  run- 
ning down  to  its  slender  tip,  and  others  fastening  them- 
selves upon  its  sides,  or  its  inverted  base. 

It  is  thus  that  evil  habits  are  formed  —  drop  by 
drop,  and  atom  by  atom.  One  wrong  act  prepai'cs  the 
way  for  another.  One  bad  habit  invites  and  attracts 
others.  Tlfts  the  little  one  soon  becomes  a  troop,  and 
the  feeble  enemy  swells  into  a  formidable  giant. 

6 


G2  STEALING     PEARS. 

Oscar  and  Jeriy  were  fast  descending  the  downward 
path  of  evil.  Hav^ing  nothing  else  to  employ  them- 
selves about,  mischief-making  became  the  main  busi- 
ness of  their  lives.  They  were  away  from  home  a 
laige  portion  of  the  time ;  and  as  Mr.  Preston  was 
glad  to  have  them  go  off,  for  the  sake  of  quiet  and 
peace  at  home,  he  seldom  troubled  himself  to  inquire 
where  they  went,  or  what  they  did.  Complaints,  how- 
ever, sometimes  reached  him  of  their  misconduct, 
which  he  passed  over  in  silence,  or  angrily  rebuked  or 
punished,  as  he  happened  to  feel. 

One  day,  as  Oscar  and  Jerry  were  making  one  of 
their  excursions  about  the  town,  they  noticed  some 
fine-looking  pears,  growing  on  a  small  dwarf  tree  in  a 
garden.  No  person  was  in  sight,  and  the  blinds  of 
that  portion  of  the  house  from  which  they  could  be 
seen  were  all  closed.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing  to 
prevent  their  helping  themselves,  and  after  deliberating 
a  moment,  and  turning  their  eyes  in  every  direction, 
with  an  assumed  air  of  carelessness,  they  noiselessly 
entered  the  gate,  and  commenced  stripping  the  tree 
of  its  rich  burden.  The  tree  was  not  much  higher 
than  Oscar's  head,  and  there  were  but  half  a  dozen 


DISCOVERT     AND     FLIGHT.  63 

pears  upon  it,  all  of  which  were  quickly  transferred  to 
the  pockets  of  the  boys. 

The  act  was  not  committed  sc  secretly  as  the  young 
thieves  imagined.  Mr.  Upham,  to  whom  the  fruit  be- 
longed, was  at  work  threshing,  in  the  barn,  and  from 
a  ba  .'k  window  observed  Oscar  and  Jerry  as  they  came 
along  the  road.  Knowing  the  mischievous  propensi- 
ties of  the  boys,  he  kept  an  eye  upon  them,  until  he 
saw  them  reach  forth  to  pluck  the  fruit,  when  he  seized 
a  whip,  and  ran  towards  them.  The  last  pear  was  in 
their  pockets  before  they  saw  him  approaching,  and 
all  they  had  to  do,  therefore,  was  to  run  with  all  speed, 
which  they  lost  no  time  in  doing.  LIr.  Upham  pur- 
sued them,  several  rods,  but  finding  that  their  young 
legs  were  more  nimble  and  light-footed  than  his,  he 
soon  gave  up  the  unequal  chase. 

Towards  noon,  when  Mr.  Upham  supposed  the  boys 
would  be  at  home  to  dinner,  he  tackled  his  horse  and 
rode  over  to  Mr.  Preston's.    As  he  saw  Jerry's  father 
in  the  barn,  he  advanced  'towards  him,  calling  out  in  hi 
rough  way :  — 

"  Hulloo,  Preston,  where  are  those  boys  of  yours, 
Oscar  and  Jerry  ?  " 


64  A     SERIOUS     MAITER. 

"  They  are  somewhere  about  here,  —  I  heam  them 
a  minute  ago,"  replied  Mr.  Preston;  "why,  what  do 
you  want  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  've  come  over  here  on  purpose  to  give  the  young 
whelps  a  good  trimming,  or  to  get  you  to  do  it,"  said  ]Mr. 
Upham,  makings  very  significant  gesture  with  his  whip, 
which  he  had  brought  with  him  from  the  wagon.  He 
then  told  IMr.  Preston  the  story  of  the  robbery,  adding 
that  the  fruit  was  a  new  and  choice  species,  which  he 
had  cultivated  with  much  care,  and  this  was  the  first 
crop.  He  said  he  would  rather  have  given  five  dollars 
than  lost  it,  as  he  wished  to  ascertain  what  the  fruit 
r/as.  "  Now,"  he  added,  "  I  am  determined  that  these 
rogues  shall  not  go  unpunished.  If  you  '11  give  them 
their  deserts,  well  and  good ;  or  if  you  will  delegate 
me  to  do  it,  it 's  all  the  same  ;  but  if  you  wont  do  either, 
I  'II  lodge  a  complaint  against  them  with  Squire  TVal- 
cott, before  sun-down.  I've  had  fruit  stolen  before,  but 
never  could  catch  the  rascals ;  and  I  sha  n't  let  this 
chance  go  of  giving  them  justice,  now  that  I  am  sure 
who  they  are." 

^*  I  do  n't  blame  you  in  the  least,"  said  ]VIr.  Preston  ; 
"  if  there 's  anything  that  I  '11  punish  my  children  for, 


THEDECISION.  65 

h  's  for  stealing.  Jerry  shall  be  whipped  for  this  ;  but 
I  do  n't  know  about  whipping  Oscar.  He  is  not  a  child 
of  mine,  but  is  only  here  on  a  visit,  and  I  dc  n't  exactly 
feci  as  though  I  had  authority  to  correct  him." 

"TVill  you  give  me  leave  to  do  it,  then?"  said  Mr 
Upham. 

"  I  can 't  give  you  an  authority  I  do  n't  myself  pos- 
sess,'' replied  Mr.  Preston.  "  No  doubt  he  is  the  great- 
est ro<2;ue  in  this  matter,  and  deserves  a  <]rood  trouncinor. 
You  can  punish  him  on  your  own  responsibility,  if  you 
choose,  and  I  w^ill  not  object ;  only  let  it  be  reason- 
able." 

"  That 's  enough,"  said  Mr.  Upham ;  "  now  let  us 
find  the  rogues." 

*'  I  think  I  heard  them  up  in  the  hay-loft  last,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Preston,  and  they  accordingly  directed 
their  steps  thither. 

The  boys,  on  coming  home  from  their  marauding 
excursion,  had  gone  up  into  the  hay-loft,  and  were  in 
the  act  of  eating  their  plunder,  when  they  were  startled 
by  Mr.  Upham's  well-known  voice.  Their  first  im- 
pulse was  to  effect  a  hasty  retreat ;  but  this  proved  to 
be  a  difficult  thing  to  do.     They  could  not  go  down  be- 

5* 


66  THE     CULPRITS     lOUND. 

low  witliojt  being  seen.  There  were  two  window-Sj 
but  they  were  too  far  from  the  ground  to  afford  escape. 
There  was  no  place  where  they  could  conceal  them- 
selves, and  they  finally  concluded  to  keep  still,  and 
hear  the  result  of  the  interview. 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Mr.  Preston,  as  he  reached 
the  top  stair. 

"  So  they  are,"  echoed  Mr.  Upham,  —  his  eye  hght- 
ing  up  with  something  like  joy.  "  You  see,  boys,"  he 
added,  "  it  did  n't  do  you  much  good  to  run,  did  it  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  heard  what  we  were  talking  about, 
below,  Oscar  ?  "  said  Mr.  Preston. 

A  sullen,  almost  inaudible  "  Yes,"  was  the  response. 

"  Then  you  know  our  business,"  added  Mr.  Preston ; 
"  and,  as  it  is  dinner-time,  we  wont  waste  any  more 
words  about  it.  Mr.  Upham,  there 's  your  boy,"  he 
continued,  pointing  to  Oscar, 

Oscar,  though  generally  bold  and  daring,  and  little 
disposed  to  show  respect  or  fear  for  his  superiors, 
seemed  completely  cowed  down  in  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Upham.  Whether  it  was  the  latter's  Herculean  limbs, 
and  rough,  blunt  manners,  or  the  threat  of  prosecution, 
that  produced  this  result,  certain  it  is,  that  all  thought 


PUNISH  :.i  E  N  T .  G7 

of  resistance  had  vanished.  He  took  off  his  jacket,  h.{ 
the  command  of  Mr.  Upham,  and  submitted  with 
ahnost  lamb-like  meekness  to  the  heavy  shower  of 
blows  that  fell  upon  his  back.  The  same  operation 
was  then  performed  upon  Jerry,  by  his  father,  after 
which  the  boys,  with  red,  swollen  eyes,  and  backs  well- 
scored  and  sore,  and  hearts  rankling  with  suppressed 
rage,  betook  themselves  to  the  house. 

Such  a  punishment,  inflicted  in  a  spirit  of  revenge, 
and  in  the  heat  of  passion,  and  without  any  attempt  to 
appeal  to  .the  reason  and  consciences  of  the  offenders, 
or  to  awaken  contrition  in  their  hearts,  could  have  but 
one  effect,  and  that  a  most  injurious  one,  upon  Oscar 
and  Jerry.  It  hardened  them  in  their  sin,  and 
awakened  a  feeling  of  bitter  hatred  towards  the  man 
who  had  been  the  instigator  of  their  punishment.  In- 
stead of  repenting  of  the  evil  they  had  done  they 
were  already  plotting  still  worse  things  against  him. 
They  appeased  the  smartings  of  the  rod  with  the 
thought  that,  some  day  or  other,  they  would  have  their 
revenge. 

Week  after  week  passed  away,  and  Jerry  and  hia 
cousin  continued  to  follow  their  accustomed  manner  of 


68  FIREINTHEWOODS. 

life  For  a  day  or  two  after  the  events  just  related, 
some  distance  and  coolness  were  perceptible  between 
them  and  Mr.  Preston ;  but  nothing  more  was  said 
about  the  affair,  and  it  was  soon  apparently  forgotten. 

One  pleasant  afternoon  in  October,  a  man  on  horse- 
back rode  in  great  haste  to  Mr.  Davenport's,  and  in- 
formed him  that  the  woods  were  on  fire,  just  beyond 
the  hills,  in  the  north  or  upper  part  of  the  town,  and 
requested  him  to  go  over  and  assist  in  putting  it  out. 
The  messenger  carried  the  same  news  to  most  of  the 
other  houses  in  the  village ;  and,  in  the  course  of  an 
hour,  quite  a  number  of  men  and  boys  had  assembled 
at  the  scene  of  the  conflagration.  Some  thirty  or  forty 
cords  of  wood,  which  had  been  cut  and  seasoned,  ready 
for  use,  w^ere  found  to  be  well  on  fire.  The  mass  of 
coals  and  flame  sent  out  a  fierce  heat,  so  that  no  one 
could  approach  very  near.  The  fire  had  communicated 
to  many  of  the  standing  trees,  and  was  roaring  and 
crackling  with  great  fury,  leaping  from  branch  to 
branch,  and  from  tree  to  tree,  everything  being  almost 
as  dry  as  tinder.  It  had  evidently  been  burning  a  con* 
giderable  time;  but  the  hills,  which  separated  the  wood- 
lot  from  the  principal  part  of  the  village,  had  prevented 


VIEW     OF     THE     FIRE 


G9 


the  smoke  being  seen.  The  people  who  had  collected 
could  do  little  or  nothing  to  stay  the  progress  of  tho 
flames,  now  that  they  were  mider  such  headway,  lU'l 


it  was  not  until  several  acres  were  burnt  ovei,  that  the 
fire  began  to  go  down.  It  finally  went  out,  only  be- 
cause there  were  no  more  trees  to  burn,  it  having 
reached  a  space  which  had  previously  been  cleared  by 
the  axe. 

The  wood-lot  and  corded  wood  destroyed  by  this  fire, 
belonged  to  Mr.  Upham,  and  his  loss  was  about  a  liun 
dred  dollars.     It  was  the  common  opinion  among  thi 


70  INT-ESTIGATIONS. 

town's  people  that  the  fire  mu3t  have  originated  in  the 
carelessness  of  some  boys  or  men  who  happened  to 
pass  through  the  wood-lot.  Mr.  l"'^pham,  however,  had 
formed  a  ditFerent  opinion  from  this,  but  he  said  nothing 
about  it  that  afternoon.  The  next  day  he  started  off 
early  after  breakfast,  with  the  determination  of  finding 
Kome  clue  to  the  mystery,  if  it  were  a  possible  thing. 
In  the  course  of  the  day  he  Tisited  many  of  the  people 
in  the  villao^e,  and  gathered  several  items  of  informa- 
tiou,  which  he  thought  might  have  a  bearing  on  the 
mystery  he  was  striving  to  solve.  Among  others  thus 
visited,  were  Mr.  Davenport  and  his  son,  and  the  latter 
put  Mr.  Upham  in  possession  of  a  certain  fact  which 
greatly  confirmed  his  suspicions. 

The  result  of  these  investigations  was,  that  Mr.  Mer- 
riam,  the  constable,  called  at  Mr.  Preston's  house  early 
the  following  morning,  with  a  warrant,  empowering 
him  to  "seize  the  bodies"  of  Oscar  and  Jerry,  and  bring 
them  before  Squire  Walcott,  to  answer  to  the  charge 
of  setting  fire  to  Mr.  Upham's  wood.  Tiie  family  were 
just  finishing  their  breakfast,  when  Mr.  Merriara  en- 
tcred.  Taking  IVIr.  Preston  alone  into  the  entry,  he 
ehowrd  him  the  warrant,  telling  him  there  wore  sus- 


THE     C  O  N*S  T  A  B  L  K  '  S     ERRAND.  ?  I 

picions  that  Osccar  and  Jerry  knew  something  abciit  the 
fire,  and  it  was  thought  advisable  to  have  the  maUer 
examined.  "  I  hope  it  wont  amount  to  anything,"  lie 
continued,  "but  if  there  are  suspicions,  about,  they 
ought  to  be  cleared  up.  It  is  unpleasant  business,  and 
I  thought  I  would  manage  it  as  quietly  as  possible. 
Perhaps  you  had  better  say  nothing  to  the  family,  now ; 
but  tell  your  boys  you  want  them  to  go  with  me,  of  an 
errand,  and  you  can  jump  in  too,  and  ride  down  with 
us.     Would  n't  that  be  the  best  way  to  manage  it  ?  '* 

Mr.  Preston  seemed  much  affected  by  the  intelli- 
gence which  was  thus  kindly  broken  to  him.  The  mere 
fact  that  his  son  and  nephew  were  suspected  of  a  crime 
which  might  send  them  to  a  prison,  went  like  an  arrow 
to  his  heart.  The  warrant,  it  should  be  observed, 
charged  the  boys  named  with  setting  fire  to  the  wood 
wilfully  and  maliciously,  and  with  intent  to  destroy  the 
same.  After  a  moment's  silence,  he  obtained  sufficient 
command  over  his  feelings  to  say  :  — 

"  I  do  n't  know,  Mr.  Merriam,  what  facts  have  come 
to  light,  but  I  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  my  boya 
had  anything  more  to  do  with  the  fire  than  you  or  L 
And  if  they  did  have  a  hand  in  it,  it  is  n't  at  all  likely 


72  THE     YOUNG     TRIgONERS. 

that  it  was  anything  more  serious  than  an  accident 
But  as  you  say,  we  had  better  keep  quiet  about  it,  until 
the  subject  is  investigated.  I  will  call  the  boys,  and 
we  will  go  down  to  the  Squire's  immediately." 

The  little  party  got  into  the  carriage,  and  drove 
towards  Squire  Walcott's.  Oscar  and  Jerry,  who  had 
suspected  the  nature  of  Mr.  Merriam's  eri*and  from  the 
first,  had  now  no  doubt  that  their  suspicions  were  cor- 
rect. The  silence  of  JMr.  Merriam,  and  the  sad  and 
anxious  expression  on  the  face  of  Mr.  Preston,  told 
them  that  something  unusual  was  about  to  transpire. 
They  asked  no  questions,  however,  but  all  rode  on  in 
silence.  On  reaching  the  Squire's,  the  boys  were  con- 
ducted into  the  sitting-room,  where  they  seated  them- 
selves with  the  constable.  Mr.  Preston  went  into  the 
"  front  room,"  or  parlor,  where  there  were  several  other 
men.  The  time  appointed  for  the  examination  not 
having  quite  arrived,  and  several  of  the  witnesses 
summoned  being  yet  absent,  Oscar  and  Jerry  remained 
in  the  sitting-room  nearly  an  hour,  before  any  one 
spoke  to  them.  It  was  a  long  and  dreary  hour.  Their 
tongues  were  silent,  but  their  thoughts  were  busy,  and 
their  eyes  glanced  anxiously  at  every  footstep. 


CHAPTER  V. 

•THE     EXAMINATION. 

O  QUIRE  Walcott,  like  most  of  the  inliabitanta 
of  Brookdale,  was  a  farmer.  He  was  somewhat 
advanced  in  years,  and  liis  son-in-law  li\  ed  in  the  same 
house  with  him,  and  assisted  in  carrying  on  the  farm. 
He  was  generally  known  as  "The  Squire," in  town, — 
a  title  which  he  acquired  from  the  circumstance  of  his 
holding  a  commission  as  Justice  of  the  Peace.  This 
commission  is  conferred  by  the  Governor  of  the  State, 
and  empowers  the  holder  to  discharge  certain  judicial 
functions,  such  as  the  issuing  of  writs  and  warrants,  the 
examination  of  persons  accused  of  crime,  etc.  In  cases 
where  the  offence  is  very  small,  the  Justice  of  the 
Pea3e  may  himself  impose  a  fine,  or  other  lawful  pen- 
alty ;  but  if  the  offence  is  one  of  much  magnitudCj  he 
must  bind  over  the  supposed  offender   in  a  sum  of 

7 


74  OSCAR     ARRAIGNED. 

money,  or  commit  him  to  jail,  to  await  a  trial  before  a 
higher  «ourt. 

The  examination  on  the  present  occasion,  was  to  he 
l.eld  in  the  front  room  of  Squire  Walcott's  house.  When 
the  time  arrived  to  commence,  one  of  the  men  present 
conducted  Oscar  into  the  room.  Ashe  took  the  seat  point- 
ed out  to  him,  and  cast  his  eye  about  the  room,  he 
recognized  Mr.  Upham,  Mr.  Davenport,  Mr.  Preston, 
Clinton,  and  several  others  of  the  town's  people.  Ail 
eyes  were  turned  towards  himself,  as  if  anxious  to  de- 
tect from  his  appearance  whether  he  were  guilty  or  in- 
nocent. With  all  his  boldness,  he  felt  his  courage 
failing  him,  as  he  encountered  the  searching  glan- 
ces of  one  and  another ;  and  although  he  tried  to  look 
indifferent,  alarm  was  written  too  plainly  on  his  pale 
%ce  to  be  disguised. 

The  Squire  sat  in  a  chair,  with  a  table  before  him, 
>n  which  were  several  books,  w^ith  pen,  ink  and  paper. 
In  a  pleasant  tone  of  voice,  he  informed  Oscar  of  the 
charge  brought  against  him,  and  expressed  the  hope 
that  he  would  be  able  to  establish  his  innocence.  "  Be- 
fore reading  the  complaint,"  he  added,  "  I  wish  to  say, 
that  you  are  not  obliged  to  criminate  yourself  in  this 


HISPLEA.  75 

matter.  You  can  plead  guilty,  or  not  guilty,  as  you 
choose.  But  if  you  did  have  any  hand  in  the  fire,  I 
would,  as  your  friend,  advise  you  to  confess  the  whole 
at  once.  By  so  doing,  you  will  not  add  to  your  guilt 
bj  falsehood,  and  the  law  will  deal  more  leniently  with 
you  than  it  would  if  you  should  be  proved  guilty  con 
trary  to  your  own  assertions.  Even  if  you  set  the 
wood  on  fire,  you  may  have  done  it  accidentally,  or  in 
sport,  without  thinking  of  the  consequences.  If  you 
had  any  connection  at  all  with  the  fire,  I  would  advise 
you  to  state  the  facts,  exactly  as  they  occurred." 

The  Squire  then  read  the  complaint,  charging  Oscar 
Preston  with  setting  the  wood  on  fire.  When  he  had 
concluded,  he  added  :  — 

"  What  do  you  say  to  this,  Oscar,  —  are  you  guilty 
or  not  guilty  ?  " 

"  Not  guilty,"  replied  Oscar,  faintly. 

The  Squire  now  requested  the  complainant  to  pro- 
duce his  evidence  against  the  accused.  Mr.  Upham 
commenced  with  an  account  of  the  stealing  of  hia 
pears  by  Oscar  and  Jerry,  and  the  punishment  which 
followed  that  adventure.  He  said  he  had  been  threat- 
ened  with   vengeance   for   causing    the    boys    to   bo 


76  THEWITN  ESSES. 

whipped,  and  he  had  reason  to  beHeve  that  the  burning 
of  his  wood  was  the  result  of  this  grudge  against  liim. 
The  witnesses  were  now  brought  forward.  The  lirst 
was  a  boy,  who  testified  that  he  heard  Oscar  say,  wiili 
an  oath,  that  he  would  yet  come  up  with  Mr.  Uj-ham 
for  the  flogging  he  gave  him.  A  young  man,  who 
worked  on  a  farm,  was  then  called  up,  and  testified, 
that  whenever  the  pear-stealing  scrape  was  mentioned 
to  Oscar,  he  would  get  mad,  and  threaten  to  be  re- 
venged on  Mr.  Upham.  The  third  witness  was  Clin- 
ton, who  testified,  that  one  afternoon,  a  short  time 
before  the  fire,  while  he  was  at  work  mending  a  stone- 
wall on  his  father's  land,  near  the  scene  of  the  confla- 
gration, Oscar  and  Jerry  came  along,  and  the  former 
asked  several  questions  about  the  location  of  IMr.  Up- 
ham's  wood-lot,  and  particularly  inquired  if  he  owned 
a  certain  lot  of  corded  wood,  which  Oscar  described, 
and  which  was  the  same  lot  that  w^as  afterwards  burnt. 
The  fourth  and  last  witness,  was  a  man  who  testified 
tliat  he  was  in  the  upper  part  of  the  town  on  the  after- 
noon of  the  fire,  and,  a  short  time  before  the  alarm  was 
e;iven,  saw  Oscar  and  Jerry,  coming  very  fast  from  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Upham's  lot. 


,  MR.   Preston's   DEFENCE.  77 

The  Squire  wrote  down  the  testimony  as  it  was 
given.  When  it  was  concluded,  he  told  Oscar  he  was 
at  liberty  to  make  any  remarks  or  produce  any  evi- 
dence that  he  saw  fit.  Oscar,  somewhat  perplexed^ 
turned  to  his  uncle,  and  after  some  conversation  be- 
tween them,  in  a  low  tone,  Mr.  Preston  remarked  to 
the  Squire,  that  he  thought  the  evidence  against  Oscar 
was  altogether  too  trivial  to  be  worthy  of  serious  no- 
tice. There  was  not,  he  said,  the  least  proof  that  Os- 
car set  the  wood  on  fire.  He  thought  Mr.  Upham  had 
magnified  a  foolish,  boyish  threat  into  a  matter  of  very 
grave  importance  ;  and  he  expressed  his  opinion,  very 
decidedly,  that  the  prisoner  ought  to  be  released 
forthwith. 

The  Squire  said  he  would  defer  his  decision  until 
the  other  prisoner  had  been  examined.  Oscar  was  then 
conducted  from  the  room  and  Jerry  was  brought  in. 
He  appeared  even  more  pale  and  excited  than  his 
cousin.  The  Squire  addressed  him  in  pretty  much  the 
same  strain  of  remark  as  he  did  Oscar ;  but  before  be 
commenced  reading  the  complaint,  Jerry  began  to  sob, 
and  with  broken  and  choked  utterance,  said :  — 

7* 


78  J  E  R  Ti  Y  '  S     C  O  X  F  p.  S  S  I  O  N  . 

"  Yes,  I  was  there,  and  saw  Lira  do  it,  but  I  did  n't 
have  any  liand  in  it  myself." 

"That  is  right,  my  son,"  said  the  Squire,  in  an" en- 
couraging tone  ;  "  tell  us  all  you  know  about  it,  just  as 
it  happened,  and  it  will  be  better  for  you  than  though 
you  attempted  to  deceive  us.  You  say  you  '  saw  him 
do  it'  —  w^hom  do  you  mean?" 

"Oscar."   - 

<'Well,  go  on  w^itb  the  story,  and  tell  us  all  the  par- 
ticulars," said  the  Squire. 

Jerry  then  related  the  history  of  the  fire.  Oscar,  it 
seemed,  had  formed  the  plan  of  burning  the  wood, 
several  days  previous,  and  he  regarded  it  as  a  sort  of 
joint  operation,  in  which  Jerry  and  he  were  to  share 
the  fun,  the  gratification,  and  the  risk.  It  appeared, 
however,  from  Jerry's  story,  that  though  he  had  en- 
tered into  the  plan,  he  did  not  actually  apply  tho 
match,  nor  assist  in  the  immediate  preparations  for  the 
fire.  He  was  present  rather  as  a  spectator  than  an 
actor. 

When  Jerry  had  finished  his  confession,  IMr.  Up' 
ham,  after  a  little  conversation  with  the  Squire,  con- 


ITS    effp:ct      on    oscar.  79 

« 

eluded  to  withdraw  his  complaint  against  Jerry. 
Oscar  was  then  re-called.  He  entered  the  room  with 
a  calmer  and  more  confident  air  than  on  the  first  occa- 
Eion;  for  since  he  had  discovered  how  weak  the  test! 
mony  against  him  was,  he  had  little  fear  for  the  result. 
When,  however,  Jerry  was  called  to  take  the  oath  of 
a  witness,  a  deadly  paleness  came  over  the  guilty  boy, 
and  he  almost  fainted.  This  was  quickly  succeeded 
by  an  expression  of  rage  in  his  countenance,  for  Oscar 
was  a  boy  of  strong  passions,  and  when  they  were  ex- 
cited, he  could  not  conceal  them.  It  was  necessary 
that  Jerry  should  relate  under  oath,  and  before  Oscar, 
the  account  he  had  already  given  of  the  fire,  for  every 
person  charged  with  crime  has  a  right  to  hear  the  evi- 
dence against  him.  When  he  had  done  this,  the 
Squire  asked  Oscar  if  he  had  anything  to  say. 

"  No,'*  replied  Oscar. 

"  Then,"  added  Squire  Walcott,  "  I  have  only  to  say 
that  the  evidence  of  your  guilt  looks  very  black,  and 
unless  you  can  break  down  the  testimony  of  Jerry,  I 
fear  your  conviction  will  be  certain.  I  must  bind  you 
over  for  trial,  and  shall  require  you  to  give  bonds  in 
the  sum  of  two  hundred  dollars,  to  appear  before  tl^e 


80  A-SADJOURNET. 

county  court  at  the  next  term.      "Mr*.  Prestcn,"  he 
continued,  "will  you  be  his  bondsman?" 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Preston,  in  a  decided  tone  ;  "  the 
boy  has  been  trouble  enough  to  me,  already,  and  now 
he  may  go  to  jail,  for  all  I  care."  A  moment  after 
noticing  the  distressed  look  of  his  nephew,  he  some 
what  relented,  in  his  feelings,  and,  in  a  milder  tone, 
assured  Oscar  that  he  would  write  immediately  to  his 
father,  who  would  doubtless  hasten  to  his  relief,  and 
settle  the  whole  affair  without  any  further  trial. 

The  little  court  now  broke  up,  and  all  returned  to 
their  homes,  save  Oscar,  who  was  still  in  the  custody 
of  Mr.  Merriam,  the  constable,  in  default  of  bail. 
After  making  a  few  hasty  arrangements  for  the  jour- 
ney, the  officer  and  prisoner  set  out  for  the  county  jail, 
which  was  about  fifteen  miles  distant.  Mr.  Merriam 
had  thought  of  putting  a  pair  of  hand-cuffs  upon 
Oscar,  to  prevent  his  escaping,  during  this  long  ride ; 
but  the  latter  begged  so  hard  to  be  spared  this  humili- 
ation that  he  relented,  and  allowed  the  boy  to  ride  by 
his  side  in  the  open  wagon,  free  and  untrammelled.  He 
also  tried  to  divert  his  mind  from  his  unpleasant  situa 
tion,   by   conversation   on   other   su])jects,   but   Oscar 


ARRIVAL     AT     JAIL  81 

Beemed  little  inclined  to  talk.  His  liearf  was  full  o( 
liard  and  bitter  thoughts  against  every  body,  and  es- 
pecially against  ]\Ir.  Uphara,  Jerry,  and  his  uncle. 
He  scarcely  thought  of  his  own  guilt,  so  absorbed  was 
he  in  nursing  his  wrath  against  those  whom  he  sup 
posed  had  injured  him. 

It  was  towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  when 
they  arrived  at  the  jail.  A  cold  chill  ran  through 
Oscar's  veins,  for  a  moment,  when  he  first  caught  sight 
of  his  prison-house.  Before,  he  could  hardly  realize 
that  he  was  a  prisoner  —  it  all  seemed  like  a  dream ; 
but  here  was  the  jail  before  him,  with  its  stone  walls 
and  grated  windows,  and  the  dream  was  changed  to  a 
reality.  Passing  through  a  high  gate,  they  entered  that 
part  of  the  building  occupied  by  the  jailer's  family, 
and  were  conducted  to  a  room  called  "  the  office."  The 
keeper  of  the  jail  soon  made  his  appearance,  and  Mr. 
Merriam  informed  him  that  Oscar  was  committed  to 
his  custody  for  trial,  and  showed  him  the  order  from 
S  luire  Walcott  to  that  effect.  The  jailer  asked  several 
questions  about  the  case,  and  then  took  down  a  large 
book,  partly  filled  with  wrifing,  and  made  the  following 
entry  Avithin  it :  — 


62  THE     PRISONER     COMMITTED. 

"  October  25th.  —  Oscar  Preston,  of  Bi'ookdale.  age»j 
14^  years,  charged  with  setting  fire  to  wood,  in  B"ook- 
dale.     Examined  by  Justice  Walcott,  and  committed 
for  trial  by  Constable  Merriam.     Bail  $200.     Of  oi 
dinary  height  for  his  age,  slender  form,  light  complex 
ion,  brown  hair,  and  blue  eyes.     Dress,  —  gray  panta 
loons,  dark  blue  jacket  buttoned  to  chin,  blue  cloth  cap 
Cell  No.  19." 

The  object  of  this  brief  description  of  the  dress  and 
personal  appearance  of  Oscar  was,  that  he  might  be 
he  more  easily  identified,  should  he  happen  to  escape 
from  the  jail.  Mr.  Merriam,  bidding  a  kind  good-bye 
to  the  young  prisoner,  now  departed,  and  the  jailei 
proceeded  to  examine  Oscar's  pockets,  to  see  if  tliere 
was  anything^  in  them  not  allowed  in  the  prison.  The 
only  articles  he  took  from  them  were  two  cigars,  which 
he  tossed  into  the  fireplace,  telling  Oscar  he  would 
have  no  use  for  them  there.  He  then  conducted  him 
through  a  long  and  dark  passage-way  to  cell  No.  19, 
which  he  had  entered  against  his  name  in  the  registry- 
book,  and  which  was  to  be  Oscar's  home  for  the  pres- 
ent. It  was  a  small,  narrow  room,  with  one  window, 
near  the  top,  which  was  guarded  by  iron  bars.     The 


oscar'scell.  83 

rails  and  floor  were  of  brick  (the  former  had  been  re- 
ue-dy  white-washed)  and  the  door  was  of  iron.  A 
sort  of  bunk  was  fitted  up  in  one  corner  of  the  cell> 
wliich  was  suj^pHed  with  bed-clothes.  There  were 
also  a  small  red  pine  table  and  an  old  chair,  a  basin, 
bucket,  tin  dipper,  and  several  other  articles  of  furni 
tare. 

Oscar  did  not  seem  to  be  much  pleased  with  the  ap- 
pearance  of  his  cell,  and  he  said  to  the  jailer :  — 

"  Can't  you  let  me  have  a  better  room  than  this  ? 
I  sha  n't  stop  here  but  a  few  days,  and  my  father  will 
pay  you  for  it,  when  he  comes,  if  you  will  let  ine  have 
a  good  room." 

The  jailer  told  him,  in  reply,  that  this  was  the  most 
comfortable  vacant  cell  he  had  ;  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  put  so  young  a  prisoner  in  a  cell  witli  older  offen- 
ders, and  if  he  was  to  stay  but  a  few  days,  he  could 
easily  make  himself  contented.  After  informing  Oscar 
of  the  principal  rules  and  regulations  of  the  prison, 
llie  jailer  locked  the  heavy  door  upon  him,  and  retired. 

The  first  impulse  of  the  young  criminal,  in  iiis  soli- 
tude, was  to  cry ;  but  he  soon  checked  himself,  and  re- 
solved to  make  the  "best  of  his  situation.     In   a  slio*  * 


84 


LIFE     IN     JAIL. 


time  his  supper  was  brought  to  him,  wliich  consisted 
of  a  few  slices  of 
bread,  and  a  dip- 
per of  warm  milk 
and  water.     Be- 
fore   night    had 
fully  set  in,  Os- 
car threw  himself 
upon   the   bunk, 
and  though  it  was 
not  so  commodi- 
ous or  so  soft  a 
bed  us  he  was  ac- 
customed   to,  he 
Boon  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  over  again  the  eventful 
incidents  of  the  day. 

The  result  of  Oscar's  trial  created  a  groat  slir  in 
Brookdale.  It  was  the  principal  topic  of  remaik  in 
every  family,  and  in  every  little  knot  of  people  thcit 
happened  to  collect,  for  several  d^ys.  The  first  mail 
that  left  Brookdale,  after  the  trial,  carried  a  letter  from 
Mt:  Preston  to  Oscar's  father  in  BoL^ton,  informing 
him  of  the  sad  intelligence.     In  viiree  or  four  days, 


A     PROPOSED     SETTLEMENT.  85 

tliL  father  of  the  unhappy  boy  arrived  in  Brookdale, 
to  see  what  could  be  done  in  behalf  of  his  son.  He  first 
sought  an  interview  with  Mr.  Upham,  who,  after  a 
little  persuasion,  agreed  to  withdraw  the  complaint,  if 
liis  loss,  $100,  were  made  up  to  him.  But  to  carry 
out  this  arrangement,  it  was  necessary  to  get  the  con- 
sent of  the  prosecuting  attorney  of  the  county,  who 
now  had  charge  of  the  case.  The  prosecuting  attor- 
ney is  an  officer  appointed  to  rej)resent  the  State  at 
the  trials  of  criminals.  Oscar  having  been  bound  over 
for  trial,  the  State  became  a  party  in  the  suit,  in  place 
of  Mr.  Ui)hara.  The  complaint  now  pending  against 
him,  was  endorsed,  "  Commonwealth  versus  Oscar 
Preston"  The  prosecuting  attorney,  as  the  represen- 
tative of  the  Commonv^^ealth,  can  discontinue  a  suit,  if 
he  deems  the  reasons  sufficient.  The  agreement  by 
which  this  is  done,  is  called  a  nolle  prosequi,  often  ab- 
breviated nol.  pros. 

Mr.  Preston  had  to  go  to  a  neighboring  town,  some 
dozen  miles  distant,  to  see  the  prosecuting  attorney 
He  laid  before  that  officer  the  facts  in  the  case,  who, 
after  considering  the  matter,  agreed  to  the  proposition, 

on  condition  that  Oscar  should  leave  tl.3  State  foj'th 

8 


86  OSCAR     RELEASED. 

witli.  To  this  Mr.  Preston  consented;  and  on  hh 
paying  over  to  Mr.  Upbum,  (who  had  accompanied 
him  on  this  visit,)  the  sum  agreed  upon,  together  with 
all  the  other  expenses  of  the  suit,  the  prosecuting  at- 
torney stayed  further  proceedings  in  the  case,  and  gave 
Mr.  Preston  an  order  for  the  release  of  his  son  from 
jail. 

Just  one  week  after  Oscar's  committal  to  the  jail,  his 
father  arrived,  with  the  order  of  release.  The  inter- 
view was  not  a  very  pleasant  one.  The  father  was 
evidently  deeply  mortified  and  displeased ;  the  son  was 
equally  ashamed  and  embarrassed.  But  little  was 
baid,  however,  on  either  side.  Mr.  Preston  returned 
^43  iioston  as  soon  as  possible,  taking  Oscar  with  him. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JERRF     AND     CLINTON. 

QOON  after  Oscar  left  Brookdale,  Jerry's  father, 
who  was  interested  in  the  logging  business,  started 
for  the  head-waters  of  the  Penobscot  river,  to  be  ab- 
sent several  months.  Large  parties  or  gangs  of  log- 
gers, as  they  are  called,  encamp  every  winter  in  the 
forests  of  Maine,  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  timber. 
After  the  trees  are  chopped  down,  the  logs  are  hauled 
by  oxen  to  the  banks  of  some  stream,  where  they  re- 
main until  the  ice  breaks  up  in  the  spring,  when  they 
arc  rolled  into  the  water,  and  floated  down  the  swollen 
river,  to  the  mills.  Such  was  the  business  which  kept 
Mr.  Preston  away  from  his  home  nearly  half  the 
jear. 

Jerry's  conduct  had  never  been  very   dutiful  toward 


88  THERABBITS. 

his  mother,  nor  very  affectionate  toward  his  little  sis- 
ters, during  his  father's  long  absences  from  home ;  bu* 
now  it  was  soon  evident  that  he  was  going  to  give  the 
family  much  more  trouble  than  ever  before.  He 
obeyed  his  mother  only  when  her  commands  happened 
to  be  perfectly  agreeable  to  him. 

One  day,  Jerry's  little  sister,  Mary,  came  running 
into  the  house,  saying :  — 

"  O,  mother,  Jerry  has  got  two  beautiful  little  rab- 
bits, the  cunningest  little  things  you  ever  saw  ;  and  he 
says  they  are  his,  and  he  's  going  to  make  a  house  for 
them  out  of  the  old  grain-chest  in  the  barn." 

"  No,  he  wont,"  said  Mi*s.  Preston ;  "  he  sha  n't  keep 
rabbits,  —  his  father  has  forbidden  it  over  and  ovei 
asain.  Go  and  tell  him  to  come  here  this  minute  ;  ^ 
want  to  see  him." 

Maiy  ran  out  to  the  barn  and  told  Jerry  all  that  his 
mother  had  said.  He  took  no  notice,  however,  of  her 
command,  but  kept  at  work  upon  the  old  chest,  which 
lie  was  converting  into  a  rabbit-house.  IMrs.  Preston 
was  busy  about  her  work,  and  did  not  go  out  to  the 
barn  to  see  what  her  son  was  about.  In  fact,  she  soon 
forgot  about  the  rabbits,  and  did  not  think  of  them 


OBJECTIONS.  89 

again  untiJ  Jerry  came  in  to  supper.     Slie  then  asked 
him  if  he  had  brought  some  rabbits  home. 

"  Yes,'  replied  Jerry. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Preston,  "  you  had  better  carry 
tliem  off  again  just  as  quick  as  you  can,  or  I  shall  get 
James  to  kill  them."  James  was  a  young  man  who 
lived  on  Mr.. Preston's  farm. 

"  I  should  like  -to  see  Jim  kill  my  rabbits,"  replied 
Jerry;  "I  guess  it  would  n't  be  healthy  for  him  to  do  it." 

"  But  you  know,"  replied  his  mother,  "  that  your 
father  has  always  refused  to  let  you  keep  rabbits 
They  may  do  a  great  deal  of  mischief,  and  are  of  no  use 
whatever.  They  '11  be  a  real  trouble  to  you,  too,  and 
you'll  soon  get  sick  of  them.  Come,  I  would  n't  keep 
them.  Send  them  off,  and  I  will  make  it  up  to  you  in 
something  else." 

"  What  else  ? "  inquired  Jerry,  who  was  al\va}'3 
ready  to  listen,  when  his  mother  proposed  to  "  buy  him 
off"  from  doing  anything  she  did  not  like. 

"  O,  I  do  n't  know  now,"  she  replied  ;   "  you  '11  want 

something  or  other   by-and-by,  and  if    you  send  the 

rabbits  off,  I  shall  probably  let  you  have  it." 

Jeriy  did  not  accept  tliis  rather  indefmite  offer,  and 

8* 


DO  DEPREDATIONS. 

pretty  soon  the  topic  of  conversation  was  changed. 
The  next  day  he  completed  the  quarters  for  his  rab- 
bits, in  spite  of  the  threats  of  James,  and  the  feeble 
remonstrances  and  coaxings  of  his  mother.  He  kept 
them  shut  up  several  days,  that  they  might  learn  to 
feel  at  home ;  after  which,  he  left  their  door  open,  giv- 
ing them  the  run  of  the  barn  and  garden. 

The  rabbits  had  enjoyed  their  liberty  but  three  or 
four  days,  when  one  morning  James  discovered,  to  his 
astonishment,  that  they  had  completely  stripped  the 
bark,  as  high  up  as  they  could  reach,  from  about 
thirty  young  apple  and  pear  trees,  which  Mr.  Preston 
had  set  out  two  or  three  years  previous.  The  excite- 
ment which  this  discovery  produced  in  the  family  was 
so  great  as  almost  to  make  even  Jerry  tremble  for  a 
while.  The  trees  thus  destroyed  were  choice  varieties, 
and  it  would  require  several  years'  time,  as  well  as 
much  care  and  money,  to  make  good  the  loss.  The 
blame  was,  of  course,  thrown  entirely  upon  Jerry,  to 
whom  it  belonged  ;  and  it  was  many  days  before  he 
heard  the  last  of  the  scolding  and  fretting  in  conse- 
quence of  this  mishap.  As  to  the  rabbits,  he  never 
saw  them  again ;    and,  as  he  made  no  inquiries,  he 


L  O  N  E  S  O  M  E  N  E  S  S  .  9l 

never  knew  what  fate  befel  tliem.  James,  in  the  heat 
of  his  wrath,  had  despatched  them  both,  without  jury 
or  trial,  on  the  morning  when  their  depredations  were 
first  discovered. 

It  was  natural  that  Jerry  should  greatly  miss  Oscar, 
with  whom  he  had  associated  continually,  day  and 
night,  for  several  months.  Indeed,  he  began  to  think 
seriously  of  running  away  from  home,  and  going  to 
Boston,  that  he  might  be  with  his  cousin  again,  and 
participate  with  him  in  some  of  the  marvellous  scenes 
and  adventures  wdiich  Oscar  had  so  often  described.  In 
his  lonesomeness,  Jerry  now  began  to  seek  the  com- 
pany of  Clinton  more  than  ever.  The  district  school 
soon  commenced  for  the  season,  and  as  both  boys  at- 
tended it,  they  were  thrown  together  much  oftener  than 
in  the  summer  months.  In  going  to  and  from  school, 
Clinton  had  to  pass  Jerry's  house,  and  they  usually 
kept  each  other  company  by  the  way.  For  some  rea- 
son or  other,  —  probably  a  suspicion  that  Clinton's 
parents  did  not  like  him  very  well,  —  Jeny  seldom 
went  to  Mr.  Davenport's  house.  Of  course,  Mr.  Daven- 
port did  not  know  that  any  particular  intimacy  existed 
between  his  son  and  Jerry.     lie  occasionally  spoke  of 


92  TIREDOFSCnOOL. 

(he  latter  as  a  boy  whose  end,  he  feared,  would  not  be 
good;  and  more  than  once  he  expressed  a  wish  tLut 
Chnton  would  avoid  him  as  much  as  possible.  But 
this,  Clinton  found  it  rather  difficult  to  do.  Jerry 
sought  his  company,  and  he  could  not  bear  to  say  no. 
He  knew  Jerry  was  a  bad  boy,  and  that  he  did  wrong 
to  put  himself  under  his  influence ;  but  he  had  not  suf- 
ficient decision  of  character  to  terminate  an  acquaint- 
ance which  had  been  so  long  continued.  So  the  intimacy 
was  kept  up,  to  the  great  injury  of  Clinton. 

At  school,  Jerry  was  not  only  a  dull  scholar,  but  a 
very  troublesome  one.  Having  never  been  taught  to 
obey  at  home,  he  was  rude  and  ungovernable  in  the 
school-room,  and  was  more  frequently  punished  for  dis- 
obedience and  inattention  to  his  duties  than  any  other 
boy  in  the  school.  After  the  novelty  had  worn  off, 
Jerry  began  to  grow  tired  of  attending,  and  occasion- 
ally played  truant,  always  contriving,  however,  to  es- 
cape detection,  by  representing  that  he  was  detained  at 
home  by  his  mother.  But  after  a  while  these  absences 
grew  so  frequent;  that  the  master  began  to  suspect  all 
miglit  not  be  right ;  and  one  morning,  on  calling  Jerry 
tc  accoui.  for  his  absence  the  preceding    afternoon, 


JERRY    IN    TROUBLE.  93 

h"e  told  him  he  should  not  excuse  him  unless  he  brought 
a  note  from  his  mother  in  the  afternoon,  certifying  that 
he  was  kept  at  home. 

Jerry  was  put  to  his  wit's  end,  by  this  new  and  an- 
expected  demand.  He  had  been  off  on  a  skating  frolic 
the  afternoon  previous,  while  his  mother  supposed  him 
to  be  at  school,  and  he  could  not,  therefore,  ask  her  for 
a  note  of  excuse.  What  could  he  do  ?  If  he  did  not 
bring  an  excuse  in  the  afternoon,  he  was  afraid  the 
matter  would  be  investigated,  and  lead  to  the  discovery 
of  his  other  frequent  truancies ;  and  in  this  case,  he 
knew  he  would  not  escape  a  severe  punishment.  At 
first  he  thouo;ht  of  writing  a  note  himself,  and  siornina 
his  mother's  name  to  it;  but  then  he  wrote  such  an 
awkward  hand,  and  was  such  a  poor  speller,  that  he 
was  afraid  he  could  not  deceive  the  teacher.  After 
thinking  the  matter  over,  aU  the  forenoon,  he  at  last 
resolved  to  do  one  of  two  things,  —  either  to  persuado 
some  one  to  write  the  excuse  for  nim,  or  else  never  to 
enter  the  school-room  again. 

When  school  was  dismissed,  Jerry  walked  home 
with  Clinton,  as  usual.  After  they  had  got  beyond  the 
hearing  :>f  the  other  scholars,  Jerry  said :  — 


94  A    PLAN. 

"Clinty,  I've  got  into  a  bad  scrape,  and  I  doi/t 
kjio\7  how  to  get  out  of  it,  unless  you  help  me." 

"  How  can  I  ?  "  inquired  Clinton,  who  at  once  cora* 
r)rehcnded  the  situation  of  affairs. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  of  a  plan  I  've  thought  of,"  conthiued 
Jerry  ;  "  and  if  you  '11  only  say  yes,  I  guess  we  can  fix 
it  easy  enough.  You  see  it  wont  do  for  me  to  ask  the 
old  woman  for  a  note,''  —  the  old  woman  was  the  dis- 
respectful title  by  which  he  usually  spoke  of  his  mother, 
• —  "  and  if  I  go  to  school  without  one,  I  'm  afraid  that 
old  Eaton  will  find  out  that  I  've  been  playing  truant 
all  along,  and  he  '11  give  me  a  regular  trouncing.  Now 
if  you  will  write  the  note,  nobody  will  ever  know  the 
difference,  for  you  can  write  just  like  a  woman.  I 
w^ould  do  it  myself,  if  I  could  write  as  well  as  you  can." 

"  What ! "  said  Clinton,  with  some  signs  of  astonish- 
ment ;  "  you  do  n't  mean  that  you  want  me  to  write 
an  excuse,  and  sign  your  mother's  name  to  it,  do 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that 's  it,  exactly ;  unless  you  can  tell  me  of 
a  better  w^ay  to  get  out  of  my  trouble." 

"  I  should  like  to  help  you  out  of  it,"  replied  Cliu- 
tun  ;  "  but  I  could  n't  do  that." 


APPEAL     TO    CLINTON.  95 

"Then,"  added  Jerry,  in  a  decided  tone,  "I  sliall 
never  see  the  inside  of  the  old  school-house  again.  1 
do  n't  know  of  anybody  else  that  I  can  get  to  write  the 
note,  and  I  am  not  going  there  without  it,  to  have  the 
breath  beat  out  of  my  body.  I  shall  go  to  Boston,  and 
take  my  chance,  —  I  wont  stay  about  here  any  longer." 

«  Do  n't  talk  so,"  said  Clinton.  «  Why  not  tell  your 
mother  that  yon  did  n't  go  to  school  yesterday  after- 
noon, and  ask  her  to  write  an  excuse  ?  She  would 
do  it,  I  guess,  if  you  made  the  confession,  rather  than 
have  you  punished." 

"  She  do  it ! "  exclaimed  Jerry,  with  some  bitterness ; 
"  no,  more  likely  she  would  write  a  note  requesting  old 
Eaton  to  lick  me  like  blazes.  But,"  he  continued, 
"  why  wont  you  write  the  excuse,  Clinty  ?  " 

Clinton  hesitated  what  reply  to  make  to  this  ques- 
tion. If  he  had  honestly  confessed  his  feelings,  he 
would  have  said,  "  It  would  be  wrong,  very  wrong,  to 
do  such  a  thing ; "  for  his  conscience  told  him  this,  and 
this  alone  was  the  objection  that  weighed  in  his  mind. 
And  yet  Clinton,  though  a  well-trained  and  virtuous 
boy,  had  a  foolish  dread  of  confessing  that  he  was 
afraid  to  do  a  wrong  act.    This  was  espe-^ially  the  case 


96  SCRUPLES     CONCEALED. 

in  his  intercourse  with  Jerrj,  who,  he  knew,  seldom 
had  scruples  of  this  kind,  and  whose  ridicule  he 
dreaded  more  than  that  of  his  other  associates.  So> 
after  a  brief  pause,  he  said, 

"  Why,  there  would  be  a  great  risk  in  doing  that. 
li'  Master  Eaton  should  discover  that  I  wrote  the  ex- 
cuse, it  would  be  a  bad  piece  of  business  for  both  of 

Ub. 

"But  how  can  he  find  it  out?  He  doesn't  know 
my  mother's  hand-writing,  and  if  you  write  it  neat  and 
fine,  he  wont  suspect  anything.     Come,  you  write  it 

I 

when  you  get  home,  and  bring  it  with  you  this  after- 
noon, and  I  '11  meet  you  on  the  road.  If  you  do  n't  I 
sha  n't  go  to  school,  that 's  all." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  Mr.  Preston's  house, 
and  after  a  few  more  words  of  coaxing  and  entreaty, 
Jerry  left  his  friend,  with  a  pretty  confident  feeling 
that  he  would  accede  to  his  wishes.  True,  Clinton 
did  not  actually  promise  to  write  the  note ;  but  Jerry 
knew  how  difficult  it  was  for  him  to  say  no,  to  any 
pressmg  suitor,  and  he  felt  almost  sure  that  his  wicked 
plan  would  be  successful. 

AVhcn  Clriton  was  left  to  his  own  thoughts,  there 


INDECISION.  97 

eame  on  a  severe  struggle  in  his  mind.  He  could  not 
bear  the  idea  of  lending  himself  to  such  a  mean  and 
wicked  piece  of  deception,  and  yet  he  feared  to  meet 
Jerry  with  a  refusal.  He  thought,  also,  what  the  con- 
sequences would  be  to  himself,  should  the  fraud  be  dis- 
covered. And  then  he  thought  of  Jerry's  threat  to 
leave  school  and  run  away  from  home,  if  he  did  not 
write  the  excuse.  If  he  could  prevent  this  great  sin 
on  the  part  of  Jerry,  might  it  not  atone  in  a  measure 
for  the  lesser  sin  of  writing  the  note  ?  This  question 
arose  in  his  mind,  and  many  an  older  head  has  been 
led  astray  by  a  similar  suggestion.  No,  Clinton,  you 
must  not  do  evil  that  good  may  come,  or  greater  evil  be 
prevented.  You  must  not  commit  a  sin,  even  in  kind- 
ness to  a  friend.  But  he  did  not  hear  the  voice,  and 
when  he  reached  his  home,  he  was  as  undecided  as 
ever  what  to  do. 

Clinton's  long  walk  to  and  from  school,  left  him  little 
more  than  time  enough  to  eat  his  dinner.  The  noon 
meal  not  being  quite  ready,  when  he  entered  the  house, 
he  went  to  his  father's  desk,  Mid  began  to  scribble 
something  in  the  form  of  a  note  of  excuse.  After 
writing  several,  to  see  how  they  would  look,  he  was 

9 


98  TAMPERINGWITHEVIL. 

called  to  dinr  er ;  and  hastily  selecting  the  best  looking 
of  the  notes,  he  put  it  in  his  pocket,  for  futuie  conside- 
ration, and  destroyed  the  others.  Even  now,  he  was 
no  nearer  a  decision  than  he  was  at  first. 

When  Clinton  arose  from  the  dinner-table,  it  was 
time  to  start  for  school.  He  had  not  proceeded  far 
before  he  overtook  Jerry,  who  was  loitering  along,  in 
expectation  of  his  approach. 

"  I  '11  take  that  note  now,"  said  Jerry,  stretching  out 
his  hand  to  Clinton,  as  the  latter  came  up  with  him. 

"  I  do  n't  know  about  that,"  said  Chnton ;  "  I  Ve 
been  thinking  it  all  over,  and  have  about  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  I  can't  agree  to  your  proposal.  But 
have  n't  you  thought  of  some  other  way  to  get  out  of 
the  scrape?" 

"  No,"  replied  Jerry,  "  there  is  no  other  way ;  but 
you  have  written  the  note,  have  n't  you?"  he  added, 
with  some  appearance  of  alarm. 

*'l  have  written  something,"  replied  Clinton,  "just 
to  see  how  it  would  seem ;  but  I  rather  guess  I  sha  n*t 
let  you  have  it." 

"  Let  me  look  at  it,  then,  wont  you  ?" 

**  I  guess  so ! "  said  Clinton,  with  a  laugh. 


THE     FORGED     EXCUSE.  9& 

"But  I'm  in  earnest,"  added  Jerry,  "just  let  me  look 
at  it,  and  I  can  tell  in  a  minute  whether  it  will  an- 
swer. Perhaps  it  wont  do,  and  then  I  sha  n't  want  it, 
at  any  rate.  Come,  let  me  see  it,  and  if  you  do  n'l 
want  me  to  keep  it,  I  wont." 

Clinton  took  the  excuse  from  his  pocket,  and 
allowed  Jerry  to  look  at  it.     It  read  as  follows :  — 

"  Mr.  Eaton  will  please  excuse  Jerry  for  absence  from  school, 
yesterday,  as  he  was  needed  at  home.  Eliza  Pkeston. 

Jan.  5th.'' 

After  reading  the  note,  Jerry  said  it  would  do  first 
rate;  but  instead  of  returning  it  to  Clinton,  as  he 
promised,  he  put  it  into  his  own  pocket.  Clinton  re- 
minded him  of  his  promise,  and  tried  to  get  the  paper 
back  again,  but  in  vain ;  and  Jerry  carried  on  the  con- 
test in  such  a  good-natured,  bantering  spirit,  that 
Clinton  could  not  take  offence.  Thus  the  deed  was 
done,  so  far  as  Clinton  was  concerned,  without  his 
coming  to  any  decision  about  it.  In  such  cases  as  this, 
no  decision  at  all,  is  often  equivalent  to  a  wrong 
decision. 


100  SUCCESSFUL      DECEPTION. 

As  Jerry  entered  the  Gchool-room,  that  afternoon, 
he  handed  the  forged  note  to  JNlaster  Eaton,  who  read 
it,  and,  without  saying  anything,  tore  it  up.  The  d©« 
ocptioE  was  Buccessful. 


CHAPTER  VIL 


DISCLOSURES. 


TV  TY  young  friend,  did  you  ever  master  a  hard  lesson, 
after  a  great  effort  ?     And  do  you  remember  how 
you  felt,  after  the  achievement?     Perhaps  it  was  a 
difficult  sum ;  and  when  you  began,  you  did  not  see 
how  you  could  possibly  work  your  way  through  it. 
But  you  persevered,  and  covered  your  slate  with  long 
columns  of  figures,  until  at  length  you  arrived  at  the 
correct  answer,  and  you  felt  something  like  the  philoso- 
pher of  old,  who  exclaimed,  after  solving  a  difficulty, 
Eureka,  —  I  have  found  it !     And  now,  having  con- 
quered  this  sum,  you  felt  just  like  attacking  a  stiU 
harder  one,  the  next  day.     You  knew  you  could  do  it, 
because  you  did  the  other ;  and  you  took  hold  of  it, 
with  a   determination  to  work  it  out  —  and  you  did 
ivork  it  out,  did  you  not  ? 

Perhaps  there  was  another  boy  in  your  class,  who  at- 

9» 


102  canandcan't. 

tempted  to  do  the  same  thing.  But  before  he  had  pul 
forth  half  the  effort  reqinred,  he  got  tired  of  the  sum, 
and  gave  up  the  attempt.  The  next  day  the  teacher 
tried  to  encourage  him  to  make  another  attempt,  but 
the  boy  knew  he  could  not  do  the  sum,  —  he  had* tried 
once,  and  it  was  of  no  use  to  try  again.  So  the  teacher 
was  obliged  to  turn  him  back  into  simple  addition  and 
multiplication,  and  he  will  probably  never  get  much 
beyund  those  departments  of  arithmetic. 

It  is  precisely  the  same  with  everything  else  that 
we  attempt  to  do.  Suppose,  instead  of  a  difficult  sum, 
it  was  a  fault,  or  temptation,  that  these  two  lads  tried  to 
master.  One  of  them  persevered  until  he  conquered 
the  difficulty,  and  the  result  was,  his  virtuous  principles 
were  strengthened,  and  he  was  prepared  to  resist  still 
greater  temptations,  or  to  subdue  greater  faults.  His 
motto  is,  "  1  canP  The  other  boy  would  not  make  the 
necessary  effort,  and  gave  up  the  attempt  after  a  poor 
feeble  trial.  The  consequence  was,  he  not  only  fell  in- 
o  bad  habits,  but  lost  his  self-reliance,  by  degrees,  un- 
til the  notion  got  into  his  head  that  it  was  of  no  use 
for  him  to  try  to  do  right.  "  /  can  H  "  is  his  motto. 
The  lesson  to  be  drawn  from  this  is  a  very  important 


AN    IMPORTANT    TEUTH.  lOS 

one,  as  you  will  see  from  the  history  of  Clinton.  Thai 
you  may  have  a  clear  idea  of  it,  let  me  state  it  thus :  — 
Every  temptation  resisted,  will  give  tod 
greater  confidence  in  your  ability  to  over 
come  new  temptations.  every  temptation 
yielded  to,  will  impair  your  self-reliance, 
a.nd    prepare    the    way    for     yet     greater 

lAULTS. 

Clinton  soon  found  that  he  had  made  a  great  mis- 
take, in  aiding  Jerry  to  escape  the  consequences  of  his 
truancy.  True,  the  deception  was  not  discovered ;  but 
tne  very  success  of  the  plan  encouraged  Jerry  to  re- 
peat the  experiment,  and  Clinton  now  found  it  less 
easy  to  refuse  to  write  an  excuse  than  at  first.  His  sin 
was,  therefore,  repeated  again  and  again,  until  Jerry 
felt  at  perfect  liberty  to  absent  himself  as  often  as  he 
pleased,  knowing  that  Clinton  would  furnish  him  with 
the  written  excuse,  which  the  teacher  now  required  in 
r11  cases  of  absence.  To  be  sure,  Clinton  objected, 
and  scolded,  and  threatened ;  but  Jerry  cared  little  for 
this,  so  long  as  he  was  sure  to  yield  to  his  desires  in 
the  end.  If  ever  a  more  convincing  argument  than 
isual  was  needed,  tie  hard-hearted  boy  would  secure 


104  T  H  K     EVENING     PARTY. 

his  end  by  hinting  at  an  exposure  of  Clinton's  share  in 
his  past  truancies.  Thus  did  Clinton  find  hitaself 
fast  in  the  net  of  this  bad  associate  ;  and  thus,  through 
the  influence  of  one  false  step,  did  he  continue  to  do 
wrong,  against  his  conscience,  and  even  against  his  own 
wishes. 

The  people  of  Brookdale  frequently  held  social  par- 
ties, at  their  houses,  in  the  long  winter  evenings,  which 
were  usually  attended  by  all  the  neighborhood. .  They 
were  not  favorably  situated  for  maintaining  the  lec- 
tures and  other  entertainments  which  are  common  in 
large  towns,  and  these  social  gatherings  were  a  sub^i- 
tute  for  them.  At  one  of  these  parties,  Mrs.  Preston 
happened  to  meet  Master  Eaton,  and  after  a  few  words 
on  unimportant  matters,  she  inquired  how  Jerry  got 
along  at  school.  Mr.  Eaton  could  not  give  a  very  fa- 
vorable report  either  of  Jerry's  behavior  or  scholar- 
ship. He  did  not  wish  to  pain  ISIrs.  Preston,  at  such  a 
time,  by  telling  her  exactly  how  things  stood ;  and  so 
lie  thought  he  would  evade  a  direct  reply  to  her  ques- 
tion, by  turning  her  attention  to  a  point  where  he  sujv 
posed  she  herself  was  at  fault. 

"  Why,"  be  remarked,  "  he  is  absent  so  often  that  il 


A    DISCOVERT.  106 

is  bard  to  tell  whether  he  really  does  make  any  pro- 
gress. 1  find  that  scholars  never  get  along  very  well 
unless  they  are  pretty  regular  in  their  attendance." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Preston 
"  I  thought  he  attended  school  regularly." 

"  O,"  replied  Mr.  Eaton,  "  parents  are  hardly  eve* 
conscious  of  the  bad  effects  of  absences  upon  the 
scholar.  They  think  it  of  little  consequence  if  their 
children  are  kept  at  home  two  or  three  times  a  week, 
but  it  is  just  this  little  irregularity  in  attendance  that 
often  prevents  their  learning  anything." 

"But  you  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Eaton,"  said  Mrs. 
Preston ;  "  I  have  not  kept  Jerry  at  home  half  a  day 
this  winter." 

"  He  always  brings  an  excuse  from  you,  when  ab- 
sent," added  Mr.  Eaton. 

"  An  excuse  from  me  ! "  said  Mrs.  Preston,  with  aa 
air  of  astonishment ;  "  why,  I  have  not  written  an  ex- 
cuse for  him  this  term,  and  I  did  not  know  that  he  had 
ever  been  absent." 

Master  Eaton  was  now  as  much  astonished  as  was 
Mrs.  Preston.  Both  had  made  an  unpleasant  discovery. 
It  was  evident  that  Jerry  was  a  worse  boy  than  eithei 


106  A     MYSTERY. 

of  them  had  supposed.  He  had  played  the  rogue  with 
a  high  liand.  After  some  further  conversation,  it  was 
agreed  that  Mrs.  Preston  should  say  nothing  at  present 
respecting  Jerry's  misconduct,  but  leave  the  teacher  to 
investigate  the  affair. 

The  next  morning,  on  searching  his  desk,  Master 
Eaton  found  several  of  Jerry's  old  notes  of  excuse, 
which  had  been  accepted,  and  thrown  aside.  His  first 
object  was  to  find  out  who  wrote  them,  for  he  knew 
that  Jerry  could  not  have  done  it.  At  first,  he  thought 
the  writing  was  the  work  of  a  female  hand;  but 
among  the  girls  who  attended  school,  there  was  not 
one  w^hom  he  could  suspect  of  such  conduct.  Besides, 
he  knew  that  Jerry  was  not  very  popular  with  the 
girls,  who  regarded  him  as  a  rude,  rough  boy,  and 
shunned  his  company  as  much  as  possible.  He  then 
took  the  writing-books  of  the  male  scholars,  and  ex- 
amined each  one  carefully,  by  itself,  comparing  the 
penmanship  with  that  of  the  notes.  The  conclusion 
to  which  he  came  was,  that  there  were  only  three 
male  scholars  who  could  possibly  have  written  the 
notes.  Two  of  these  were  young  men,  nearly  gi'own 
up,  who  apparently  held  very  little  intercourse  with 


SUSPICIONS.  107 

Jerry ;  the  other  was  Clinton,  an  intimate  acquaintance 
of  Jerry,  but  a  boy  whose  conduct  at  school  had 
always  been  unexceptionable.  Surely,  none  of  these 
could  have  had  a  hand  in  the  mischief.  At  least,  so 
thought  Master  Eaton. 

Several  days  elapsed,  and  the  teacher  made  no  pro 
gress  in  his  investigations.  At  last,  Jerry's  seat  was 
vacant,  for  one  entire  day,  for  he  now  seldom  took  less 
than  a  day  at  a  time,  when  he  played  truant.  The 
next  morning,  he  appeared  with  a  note,  as  usual,  which 
the  master  read,  and  put  in  his  desk,  without  making 
any  remark.  Mr.  Eaton  had  noticed  that  Clinton  and 
Jerry  came  to  school  together,  that  morning,  and  as  he 
glanced  at  Clinton,  after  reading  the  note,  he  observed 
that  the  latter  turned  his  eye  quickly  away,  and  di'op- 
ped  his  head,  as  if  afraid  to  meet  the  gaze  of  his 
teacher..  This  led  Mr.  Eaton  to  watch  him  more 
closely,  and  it  was  with  the  deepest  pain  that  he  de- 
tected an  uneasy,  anxious  appearance  in  his  manners, 
which  he  had  never  before  observed.  In  the  course 
of  Ihe  forenoon,  he  stopped  a  few  moments  at  Clinton's 
geat,  and  conversed  familiarly  with  him  about  hia 
lessons ;  but  there  was  a  constraint  and  want  of  fraiik 


108  GUILT     BETRAYED. 

ness  in  the  boj's  appearance  that  only  served  to  deepen 
the  master's  painful  suspicion. 

The  truth  was,  Clinton  went  to  school,  that  morning 
with  a  vague  foreboding  that  his  guilt  was  about  to  be 
brought  to  light.  By  some  mysterious  process,  which 
I  cannot  explain,  a  secret  impression  of  approaching 
evil  sometimes  weighs  heavily  upon  the  mind,  without 
any  known  cause.  This  was  the  case  with  Clinton, 
that  morning,  and  the  glance  which  his  teacher  cast 
toward  him,  after  reading  Jerry's  excuse,  sent  the  con- 
viction, to  his  heart  that  he  was  discovered.  How 
easily  does  guilt  betray  itself! 

School  was  dismissed  as  usual,  at  noon,  and  again 
assembled  in  the  afternoon.  Tfee  master  had  intended 
to  detain  Clinton  after  school  in  the  forenoon ;  but  the 
intermission  was  so  short,  that  he  concluded  to  defer 
the  investigation  until  afternoon.  Just  before  dismiss- 
ing the  scholars,  at  night,  he  went  to  Clinton's  seat 
and  in  a  low  tone  o^  voice  which  no  one  else  heard, 
requested  him  to  remain  after  school.  Clinton  turned 
red,  and  then  pale,  at  this  unusual  request,  made  in  so 
unusual  a  manner.  After  the  scholars  had  all  passed 
out^  and  the  doors  were  shut,  Mr.  Eaton  called  Clinton 


SHAME     AND     GRIEF.  10^ 

up  io  his  desk,  and  taking  Jerry's  excuse  from  the 
drawer,  held  it  up,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  anything 
about  it. 

It  was  a  terrible  moment  for  the  unhappy  boy.  He 
felt  that  his  guilt  had  already  betrayed  itself,  and  ex- 
posure, shame,  and  punishment  were  now  inevitable. 
His  tongue  refused  to  speak,  and  after  vainly  strug- 
gling with  his  emotions  a  few  moments,  his  pent-up 
feelings  found  an  outlet  in  an  outburst  of  tears.  His 
legs  trembled  beneath  him ;  and  throwing  himself  up- 
on a  bench  near  by,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands 
and  sobbed  bitterly. 

Mr.  Eaton  did  not  repeat  his  question  —  it  was  al- 
ready answered.  He  saw,  however,  that  there  was 
penitence  as  well  as  guilt,  in  the  youth  before  him,  and 
when  he  spoke  to  him,  it  was  in  a  kind  and  soothing 
tone.  • "  Clinton,"  he  said,  "  I  have  kept  school  here 
three  winters,  and  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever 
had  tc  call  you  to  account  for  a  fault.  You  have  al- 
ways behaved  well ;  if  you  have  done  wrong  now,  I 
think  you  must  have  been  led  astray  by  some  great 
temptation.  I  accidentally  discovered,  a  few  days 
Bgo^  that  these  notes  did  not  come  from  Jerry's  mother, 

10 


110  AREQUEST 

and  I  determined  to  trace  them  to  their  source.  1 
judge  from  your  conduct  that  you  wrote  them.  If  so, 
I  want  you  to  make  a  clean  confession  of  the  affair. 
If  you  have  really  had  a  hand  in  this  matter,  you 
should  consider  yourself  fortunate  that  you  have  been 
detected,  before  it  went  any  farther.  I  have  long 
known  Jerry  Preston  to  be  a  very  bad  boy,  but  you 
are  so  unlike  him  that  I  did  not  suspect  he  was  Jead- 
ing  you  on  to  ruin.  Come,  wipe  your  eyes,  and  teU 
me  the  whole  history  of  this  matter." 

"Will  you  promise  me  one  thing?"  said  Clinton, 
speaking  with  considerable  difficulty  amid  his  sobs  and 
tears. 

"  I  cannot  promise  you  anything  until  I  know  what 
it  is,"  rephed  Mr.  Eaton.  "  What  is  the  promise  you 
refer  to  ?  " 

"I  am  willing  to  tell  you  the  whole  story,"  added 
Clinton,  "  but  I  do  n't  want  any  body  else  to  hear  of 
it." 

"  I  cannot  promise  you  that,"  remarked  Mr.  Eaton, 
**  for  there  may  be  good  reasons  why  the  affair  should 
not  be  kept  secret.  I  will  agree,  however,  to  keep  it 
private,  provided  I  think  I  can  properly  do  so." 


CONFESSION.  Ill 

Clinton  now  proceeded  to  relate  all  the  circumstan- 
ces connected  with  the  forged  excuses,  just  as  they 
occurred.  He  described  his  fears,  his  struggles  with 
conscience,  the  threats  of  Jerry  to  run  away,  and  the 
artifice  by  which  the  latter  obtained  possession  of  the 
first  note.  Nothing  was  kept  back,  and  as  Mr.  Eaton 
listened  to  the  disclosures  thus  frankly  made,  and  read 
the  sorrow  and  repentance  of  CHnton  in  his  looks  and 
tones,  he  was  satisfied  that  a  true  account  had  been 
given.  Clinton  himself  felt  as  though  a'terrible  burden 
had  been  rolled  from  his  heart,  after  he  had  concluded 
his  confession.  He  breathed  freer  than  he  had  for 
several  days  previous. 

After  Clinton  had  concluded  his  confession,  Master 
Eaton  sat  in  silence  several  moments,  apparently  en- 
gaged in  deep  thought.     At  length  he  spoke :  — 

"  This  is  sad  business,  Clinton,  —  sad  business.  You 
have  been  guilty  of  a  series  of  forgeries,  in  repeatedly 
signing  another  person's  name.  You  have  also  aided 
and  encouraged  a  bad  boy  in  his  evil  ways,  and  are  to 
some  extent  responsible  for  his  wickedness." 

Clinton  commenced  crying  afresh. 

"  But,"  continued  the  teacher,  "  there  are  some  ex- 


112  clinion's   weak   side. 

tenuating  circumstances  in  the  case,  which  I  shall  take 
into  consideration.  I  cannot  see  as  a  pubhc  exposure 
of  your  wrong-doing  before  the  school  would  be  of  any 
benefit  to  yourself  or  to  others,  and  I  shall  spare  you 
that  mortification,  provided  your  general  conduct  con- 
tinues good.  And  as  to  the  punishment  that  the  case 
demands,  I  will  consult  with  your  father  before  con- 
eluding  upon  it." 

"  O  no/'  exclaimed  Clinton,  "  do  n't  tell  him  about 
it.  Punish  me  in  any  way  you  please,  and  I  '11  pro- 
mise never  to  offend  again,  if  you  wont  let  father  kno\^ 
anything  about  it." 

Mr.  Eaton's  reply  was  decided,  but  kindly  expressed. 
"  Clinton,"  he  said,  "  I  have  always  considered  you  a 
youth  of  good  habits,  but  the  disclosures  you  have 
just  made  show  that  your  character  has  a  weak  side. 
You.  are  too  easily  influenced  by  others.  You  can't 
"say  no,  when  a  great  temptation  presents  itself.  In 
my  opinion,  you  have  just  had  a  narrow  escape  from 
ruin ;  for  who  can  tell  into  what  evil  Jerry  would 
have  soon  led  you,  if  the  spell  had  not  been  acci- 
dentally broken  ?  Now  your  father  is  ignorant  of  all 
this.     He  has  no  idea,  probably,  of  the   dangers   to 


MR.     EATON*S     ADVICE.  115 

which  you  are  exposed ;  but  he  ought  to  know  /he 
facts  in  the  case,  and  I  should  not  feel  as  though  I 
had  been  faithful  to  my  trust,  were  I  to  hush  up  a 
.  matter  of  so  great  importance  to  his  and  your  welfare. 
No..  I  cannot  think  of  doing  it.  The  better  way 
would  be  for  you  to  go  to  him  and  confess  the  whole 
truth,  yourself.  If  you  are  really  sorry  for  what  you 
have  done,  as  I  suppose  you  are,  you  ought  to  be 
willing  to  do  this.  What  do  you  say  to  the  pro- 
posal ?  " 

"  If  you  think  .  I  ought  to,  I  will  do  it,"  replied 
Clinton,  somewhat  reluctantly;  "but  I  would  rather 
he  would  not  know  it." 

"  My  advice  is,"  said  Mr.  Eaton,  "  that  you  go  home 
and  confess  the  whole  affair  to  your  father  to  night. 
If  you  do  so,  I  shall  consider  that  my  duty  has  been 
discharged,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  ami  shall 
leave  the  matter  of  punishment  entirely  with  ^cur- 
father." 

With  these  words  Mr.  Eaton  bade  his  pupil  good- 
night, and  both  departed  for  their  homes.  On  his 
way  home,  Clinton  encountered  Jerry,  who,  suspecting 
the  cause  of  his  detention,  had  loitered  on  the  road, 

10* 


114  JERRY     IN     PERPLEXITY. 

waiting  to  learn  the  truth.  Clinton  told  him  they  were 
discovered,  but  declined  giving  him  ar.v  information, 
or  entering  into  any  farther  conversatF  p  on  the  sub- 
ject ;  and  he  hurried  home,  leaving  Je/^y  not  a  little 
perplexed  at  his  unusual  conduct. 


CHAPTER   Vni. 


CONFESSION. 


tT  rillLE  Clinton  is  on  his  way  home  from  school^ 
after  the  discovery  of  his  offence,  let  us  look  in  a 
moment  upon  his  parents. 

"  After  six  o'clock,  and  Clinton  has  not  made  his  ap- 
pearance yet,"  said  Mrs.  Davenj)ort,  who  had  the 
smoking  tea  and  toasted  bread  upon  the  table,  in  readi- 
ness for  the  evening  meal.  "  Really,  husband,  I  begin 
to  feel  uneasy  about  Clinton.  He  is  away  from  home 
a  great  deal  more  than  he  used  to  be,  and  when  he  is 
here,  he  seems  like  a  different  boy  from  what  he  was 
a  year  or  two  ago.  You  say  you  do  n't  notice  any- 
tliing  unusual  about  him,  but  that  only  shows  that  a 
niother's  eye  is  more  quick  to  read  the  heart  than  a 
oian's.  /see  a  change  in  his  conduct.  He  is  more  re- 
served than  he  used  to  be  ;  is  less  affectionate  in  liis 
manners,  takes  less   interest  in  his  work  and  })ookR, 


116  CLINTON  *S    APPEARANCE. 

and  often  seems  absent-minded,  as  though  he  was 
thinking  of  something  that  he  meant  to  conceal  from 
us.  I  do  n't  like  that  Jerry  Preston,  and  I  'm  afraid 
he  is  doing  Clinton  no  good." 

"  You  are  only  borrowing  trouble  when  there  is  no 
need  of  it,"  replied  IMr.  Davenport.  "  I  do  n't  see  but 
that  Clinton  behaves  as  well  now  as  he  ever  did.  At 
any  rate,  I  've  no  fault  to  find  with  his  conduct,  and 
nobody  else  has  yet  made  any  complaint  against  him. 
You  must  not  expect  that  he  will  always  be  precisely 
the  same  little  boy  he  used  to  be.  As  he  grows  older, 
he  will  naturally  change,  like  all  the  rest  of  us." 

Before  Mrs.  Davenport  could  reply,  Clinton  entered 
the  room,  and  silently  took  his  seat  with  the  family  at 
the  supper-table.  The  conversation  that  had  just 
passed,  naturally  led  both  his  parents  to  observe  him 
more  closely  than  usual.  Mr.  Davenport  thought  he 
looked  unusually  sober.  But  the  mother,  with  her 
penetrating  eye,  saw  more  than  this  ;  she  saw  traces 
of  weeping,  and  a  peculiar  expression  of  trouble,  on 
the  fai^e  of  Clinton.  She  noticed,  also,  that  she  could 
not  o.atch  his  eye,  which  was  restless  and  uneasy.  He 
took  no  part  in  the  conversation  at  the  table,  and  ate 


THE     FIRE-SID  E. 


117 


but  little.  After  tea,  he  took  the  lantern,  and  brought 
in  from  the  barn  the  usual  supply  of  wood  and  kindhng 
stuff  for  the  morrow,  which  was  a  part  of  his  regular 
work.  This  duty  over,  he  seated  himself  on  a  cricket 
by  tJie  fire-side,  and  commenced  whittling  a  piece  of 


,,n'nyVi!!!!*tf!;rl!5'"i'lir 


!_iteia^> 


f  I 


/I 


pine  which  he  had  brought  in.  Annie  had  been  put  jO 
bed,  and  his  father  and  mother  were  seated  at  the  light- 
stand,  which  was  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  blazing  wood- 
fire.  The  same  troubled  look  which  Mrs.  Davenport 
had  noticed  at  the  tea-table,  was  still  very  plainly  visi- 


118  WHITTLING. 

ble  on  Clinton's  face.     Indeed,  he  had  seateu  himself 
with  the  determination  not  to  rise  until  he  had  madt 
his  confession  to  both  his  parents  ;  and  he  was  thinking 
how  he  should  introduce  the  unpleasant  topic,  when  hii 
father  broke  the  silence  by  asking :  — 

"  Clinton,  what  are  you  making  ?  " 

"  I  am  only  whittling,"  he  replied. 

"I  see  you  are  whitthng,"  remarked  Mr.  Davtfl*- 
port ;  "  I  inquired  what  you  was  making." 

"  I  aint  making  anything,"  replied  Clinton. 

"  That's  a  bad  sign,  Clinty,"  continued  his  father. 
"  I  know  whittling  is  a  Yankee  accomplishment,  but  he 
is  a  poor  Yankee,  who  whittles  away  his  stick  to 
nothing.  Did  you  never  hear  of  the  fellow  who  lost 
his  sweet-heart  by  doing  that  very  thing  ?" 

Clinton  shook  his  head,  in  the  negative. 

*'  Well,"  continued  ISIr.  Davenport,  "  after  the  young 
man  had  come  to  an  understanding  with  the  pretty 
lass  whom  he  intended  to  make  his  wife,  he  had  to  go 
to  her  father  to  get  his  consent  to  the  arrangement. 
The  father  was  a  shrewd  old  farmer,  and  he  noticed 
that  his  daughter's  suitor,  during  the  awkward  inter- 
view, whittled  away  very  industriously  at  a  stick,  just 


A    STO  RT. 


119 


Bs  you  were  doing  a  moment  ago.  The  old  man 
walched  the  movement  of  the  knife,  and  at  the  same 
time  continued  to  talk  on  the  prospects  of  his  would-be 
gon-in-law,  until  the  stick  had  dwindled  down  to  nothing. 
Then  he  said  to  the  young  man  :  '  Sir,  you  have  prop- 
erty, and  steady  habits,  and  are  good-looking ;  but  you 
can 't  have  my  daughter.  Had  you  made  something, 
• — no  matter  what,  —  of  the  stick  you  have  whittled 
away,  you  could  have  had  her  ;  as  it  is,  —  you  cannot 
Your  property  will  go  as  the  stick  did,  little  by  little, 
until  all  is  gone,  and  your  family  reduced  to  want.  I 
have  read  your  true  character;  you  have  my  answer.* 

"  So,"  continued  Mr.  Davenport,  "  you  see  what  a 
man  lost  by  whittling  his  stick  away  to  nothing.  Per- 
haps he  only  did  it  because  he  had  something  on  his 
mind,  which  he  did  not  know  how  to  get  off;  but  he 
took  a  very  foolish  way  to  get  over  the  difficulty,  as  he 
soon  discovered." 

This  last  remark,  whether  intended  so  by  his  father 
or  not,  Clinton  took  as  having  a  special  meaning  for 
hira.  He  thought  it  an  evidence  that  his  father  had 
noticed  his  troubled  look,  and  was  awaiting  an  explana- 


120  CLINTON'S     CONFESSION 

lion.  So  throwiog  his  piece  of  pine  into  the  fire,  and 
Bummoning  all  his  resolution,  he  said,  as  his  eyes  filled 
with  tears :  — 

^  Father,  I  have  got  something  on  my  mind  that  has 
made  me  very  unhappy  for  a  good  while,  and  now  I 
want  to  tell  you  all  about  it." 

At  these  words  his  mother,  who  was  sewing,  dropped 
her  work  and  fixed  her  eyes  earnestly  upon  Clinton 
His  father,  forgetting  his  conversation  an  hour  or  two 
previous  with  ISlrs.  Davenport,  said :  — 

"  I  thought  something  ailed  you,  Clinton,  and  I  am 
glad  you  have  concluded  to  tell  us  about  it.  Tou  have 
no  better  friends  than  your  father  and  mother,  and  you 
ought  never  to  conceal  your  troubles  from  them.  Go 
on  with  your  story." 

Clinton  then  made  a  full  and  frank  confession  of  his 
misdoing,  as  it  has  been  already  related.  He  also  gave 
an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  de- 
tected, so  far  as  he  had  been  able  to  learn,  and  narrated 
the  conversation  he  had  held  with  Master  Eaton,  that 
afternoon.  When  he  concluded  his  confession,  his  pa- 
rents, s^  well  as  himself,  were  in  tears.    For  some  mo- 


ADMONITIONS.  121 

meiits  there  was  a  silence,  unbroken  save  by  sobs.  Mr. 
Davenport  then  arose,  and  pressing  Clinton  to  his 
heart,  said :  — 

"  My  son,  I  bless  God  that  he  has  given  you  courage 
to  make  this  .confession.  You  have  done  very  wrong  ; 
you  have  had  a  narrow  escape  from  shipwreck,  —  and 
all  the  while  we  were  not  dreaming  of  your  danger ! 
0,  how  could  you  deceive  us  so  ?  But  I  wont  chide 
you  now.  You  have  done  well  to  disclose  it  all,  even 
at  this  late  day, —  and  I  hope  you  have  learned  a 
lesson  from  this  affair  which  you  will  never  forget ! " 

His  father  and  mother  continued  the  conversation  for 
some  time,  —  pointing  out  to  Clinton,  very  plainly  but 
kindly,  the  principal  faults  of  his  character,  by  which 
he  had  been  led  astray;  and  warning  him  earnestly 
against  associating  any  more  with  Jerry,  or  any  other 
boys  of  his  stamp.  At  length,  Mr.  Davenport  inquired 
what  punishment  the  teacher  had  inflicted. 

"None,"  replied  Clinton  ;  "he  said,  if  I  would  confess 
the  whole  affair  to  you,  he  would  leave  the  punishment 
to  vou." 

«  Well,"  said  his  father, "  I  will  think  about  it.  I  could 

11 


122  AT    SCHOOL. 

cheerfully  forgive  all  the  past,  if  you  would  promise  to 
do  better  hereafter,  —  but  I  am  not  sure  that  this 
would  be  the  best  thing  for  you." 

"  I  mean  to  behave  better  hereafter,"  said  Clinton  > 
**  but  I  do  not  ask  to  be  pardoned  without  punishment 
1  knDw  I  deserve  to  suffer  for  my  conduct,  and  I  shan't 
think  hard  of  it  if  I  do." 

Mr.  Davenport  said  he  would  consider  the  matter, 
and  announce  his  decision  the  next  day.  The  family 
then  knelt  in  prayer;  and  the  erring,  but  repentant,  son 
was  most  affectionately  commended  to  the  Divine  for- 
giveness, and  the  Good  Spirit  implored  to  guide  his 
future  steps. 

The  next  morning  Clinton  attended  school,  as  usual, 
but  Jerry  was  absent.  Mr.  Eaton  inquired  of  Clinton 
if  he  had  kept  his  promise,  and  seemed  much  pleased 
when  he  answered  in  the  affirmative.  He  gave  him 
Bome  good  advice,  and  expressed  the  hope  that  he 
would  avoid  all  similar  errors  hereafter.  It  being 
Saturday,  no  school  was  held  in  the  afternoon,  and 
Clinton  returned  home  without  having  seen  Jerry. 

In  the  evening,  when  Clinton  was  alone  with   hia 


PUNISHMENT  123 

* 

parents^  the  subject  which  had  engrossed  the  thoughts 
of  all,  so  earnestly,  for  the  last  twenty -four  hours,  was 
again  introduced. 

"  Your  mother  and  I,"  said  Mr.  Davenport,  "  have 
talked  over  your  affair,  Clinton,  and  we  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  series  of  offences  was  so  long, 
and  so  aggravated,  that  the  pain  of  exposure  which 
you  have  suffered  is  hardly  sufficient  punishment. 
You  did  well  in  making  a  confession,  it  is  true ;  but, 
you  did  not  do  that,  until  you  found  you  could  no 
longer  conceal  your  guilt.  We  have  therefore  de- 
cided that  you  must  forego  your  promised  trip  to 
Boston  next  March,  by  way  of  punishment." 

This  was,  indeed,  a  severe  deprivation  to  Clinton. 
For  more  than  six  months  he  had  been  anticipating 
with  delight  the  arrival  of  spring,  when,  the  winter- 
school  over,  he  was  to  spend  several  weeks  with  hL« 
uncle  and  cousins  in  Boston.    But  he  felt  that  the  dis- 
appointment was  deserved,  and  he  made  no  complaint 
His  father  afterwards  added,  for  his  encouragement 
that  if  his  conduct  continued  unexceptionable,  the  sus 
pended  visit  should  come  off  in  the  following  autumn, 
after  the  fall  work  was  over. 


124  A    BURDEN    REMOVED. 

Notwithstanding  his  disappointment,  Clinton  weni  tu 
bed  that  night  with  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had  known 
before  for  many  weeks.  He  felt  that  he  had  escaped 
from  a  frightful  snare,  and  that  he  could  once  more 
look  his  parents  and  teacher  honestly  in  the  face.  He 
determined  to  retrieve,  by  his  good  conduct,  whatever 
he  had  lost,  in  their  estimation  ;  and  he  felt  almost  im- 
patient to  be  tempted  again,  that  he  might  show  thera 
bow  firmly  he  could  now  resist  every  evil  influence. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


THE     RUNAWAY. 


T?ARLY  on  the  Monday  morning  after  the  events 
related  in  the  preceding  chapter,  Mrs.  Preston  was 
Been  approaching  the  house  of  Mr.  Davenport.  She 
was  evidently  much  excited  and  troubled,  and  as  soon 
as  she  entered  the  I'Dom,  she  proceeded  to  disclose  her 
errand.  It  was  simply  this,  Jerry  had  run  away  from 
home! 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Jerry  learned  from  Clin- 
ton on  Friday  evening,  that  his  truancies  were  discov- 
ered. He  had  already  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do 
in  case  of  such  an  emergency ;  and  the  following  day 
he  thought  the  matter  over,  and  determined  how  to 
proceed.  The  next  day  all  the  family  went  to  church 
but  himself,  he  having  desired  permission  to  stay  at 
home  and  take  care  of  the  house.  After  he  was  left 
alone,  he  hastily  dressed  himself  in  his  best  suit,  and 

11* 


126  THEFT     AND     DESERTION 

proceeded  to  tie  up  in  a  bundle  a  few  articles  of 
clothing,  such  as  shirts,  stockings,  etc.  He  then  -went 
to  his  mother's  bureau,  and,  knowing  where  she  kept 
the  key,  unlocked  a  drawer,  and  took  therefrom  a 
purse  containing  all  the  money  she  then  had  on  hand, 
amounting  to  about  thirty  dollars.  Seeing  some  letter 
paper  by  the  side  of  the  purse,  he  wrote  the  following 
message  on  the  sheet,  and  left  it  in  the  drawer :  — 

"i  am  tyred  of  staing  in  this  misrable  plaice  —  i  am  Goeing 
to  see,  and  you  wont  se  me  again  verry  soon,  you  se  i  took  a 
feu  dollars,  to  help  me  allong — you  musnt  think  you  can 
ketch  me,  so  Goodbie." 

Having  thus  fitted  himself  out  for  the  journey,  Jerry 
turned  his  back  upon  his  home,  without  one  reluctant 
thought,  and  hastened  on  his  way  toward  Boston.  As 
the  family  did  not  return  from  church  until  the  after- 
noon service  was  over,  no  one  knew  of  the  disappear- 
ance of  Jerry  till  late  in  the  day.  At  first,  nothing 
strange  was  thought  of  his  absence;  but  when  night 
set  iu,  and  he  did  not  appear,  his  mother  began  to 
grow  uneasy.  On  examining  the  chest  in  his  bed- 
room, she  found  that  some  of  his  clean  clothes  had 


A   mother's    ghief.  127 

gone,  and  a  suspicion  flashed  upon  liei  mind  that  he 
had  forsaken  his  home.  Still  later  in  the  evening,  she 
happened  to  go  to  her  drawer,  and  discovered  Jerry's 
farewell  note,  and  —  the  robbery.  Yes,  her  son  was 
a  thief,  as  well  as  a  runaway.  I  will  not  attempt  to 
describe  the  anguish  which  pierced  her  soul,  when  she 
read  his  heartless  message,  confirming  her  worst  sus- 
picions. Bad  and  unruly  though  he  was,  he  was  her 
own,  her  only  son,  and  she  still  loved  him  with  the 
affection  which  only  a  mother  can  know.  And  now  to 
be  separated  from  her  boy  under  such  painful  and 
mortifying  circumstances  —  to  lose  all  influence  over 
him,  and  all  knowledge,  even,  of  his  whereabouts,  with 
the  prospect  of  never  seeing  him  again  —  ah,  it  cost 
her  a  pang  such  as  she  never  before  experienced. 

Mrs.  Preston  destroyed  Jerry's  letter,  before  any  one 
else  could  have  a  chance  to  see  it ;  for  she  determined 
that  no  one,  even  in  the  family,  should  know  of  the 
theft  he  committed.  Of  course,  she  said  nothing  to 
Mr.  Davenport  about  this.  She  called  upon  him  to 
ask  his  advice  and  aid  in  the  matter.  Mr.  Davenport 
was  not  much  surprised  to  hear  that  Jerry  had  run 


128  NEIGHBORLY     ADVICE. 

awaj.  From  what  he  knew  of  the  boy,  it  was  only 
what  might  have  been  expected.  Nor,  on  the  whole, 
was  he  very  sorry  that  he  had  gone ;  for  he  was  a  bad 
boy,  and  was  corrupting  the  youth  of  the  village,  and 
hie  leaving  the  place  would  be  a  public  blessing.  Still 
Mr.  Davenport  could  not  help  pitying  Jerry's  mother, 
and  in  spite  of  his  feelings,  he  thought  it  his  duty  to 
assist  her  to  recover  her  son,  or  at  least  to  ascertain 
where  he  had  gone.  He  therefore  advised  her  to 
write  immediately  to  Jerry's  uncle  in  Boston,  and  re- 
quest him  to  put  the  police  officers  on  the  look-out  for 
the  runaway,  should  he  show  himself  in  that  city.  He 
also  decided  to  go  himself  in  pursuit  of  Jerry,  in  a^ 
sleigh,  with  the  hope  of  overtaking  him.  But  before 
Mrs.  Preston  took  her  leave,  he  said  to  her  :  — 

"  I  have  one  more  word  of  advice,  IMrs.  Preston ; 
and  that  is,  if  Jerry  is  bent  on  going  to  sea,  I  think 
you  had  better  let  him  go  a  short  voyage.  If  we 
succeed  in  bringing  him  back,  it  is  not  likely  that  he 
will  stay  here  long;  and  if  he  is  determined  to  go 
away,  he  had  better  go  with  yo«r  knowledge  and  con- 
sent, than  without  them.     His  uncle  can  probably  se- 


THE     PURSUIT.  129 

cure  a  chance  for  liim  on  board  some  vesstil  wliert,  he 
will  be  well  treated,  and  then  you  will  know  where  he 
is,  and  be  likely  to  hear  fiom  him  occasionally." 

Mrs.  Preston  said  that,  for  her  part,  she  would 
agree  to  such  an  arrangement,  though  she  did  not 
know  as  Jerry's  father  would  consent  to  it. 

Mr.  Davenport  kept  his  promise,  and,  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  ready,  started  off  in  pursuit  of  the  runaway, 
taking  the  road  that  led  toward  Portland.     He  stopped 
occasionally  at  some  house,  on  the  road,  to  inquire  if  a 
boy  had  been  seen  travelling  that  way  the  day  before. 
For  a  while,  he  could  find  no  trace  of  Jerry ;  but  at 
last  he  found  one   house,  the   inmates  of  which  re- 
membered that  a  lad,  answering  to  the  appearance  of 
Jerry,  had  passed  along  the  road  on  foot,  the  day  pre- 
vious.    Mr.  Davenport  now  pressed  forward,  subse- 
quent inquiries  confirming  him  that  he  was  on  the  right 
track.     Toward  noon,  he  reached  a  village  from  which 
a  line  of  coaches  ran  to  Waterville,  connecting  with 
Ihe  railroad  to  Portland.     On  making  inquiries  at  the 
lavern,  he  learned  that  Jerry  arrived  there  the  evening 
previous,  and  took  the  stage  early  in  the  morning,  say- 
ing that  he  was  bou  id  for  Boston.     It  was,  of  course, 


130        FEELINGS     TOWARDS    JERRY. 

useless  for  Mr.  Davenport  to  follow  him  any  farther, 
and  he  accordingly  returned  home,  and  reported  the 
result  of  his  inquiries. 

"  Father,"  said  Clinton,  as  the  family  sat  around  the; 
fire-side  in  the  evening,  "  I  should  n't  think  you  wouH 
be  sorry  Jerry  has  run  away  —  and  yet  you  've  tried 
pretty  hard  to  catch  him." 

"  On  some  accounts,"  replied  Mr.  Davenport,  "  I 
am  not  sorry ;  but  I  pitty  his  poor  mother,  and  for 
her  sake  I  would  like  to  save  the  boy  from  the  fool- 
ish course  he  has  taken.  But  I  have  little  faith  that 
he  would  remain  here  a  great  while,  if  brought  back. 
He  has  been  permitted  to  have  his  own  way  so  long, 
that  there  is  little  probability  of  his  submitting  now 
to  the  authority  of  his  mother." 

"  "Well,  I  am  almost  sorry  that  he  has  gone,  too," 
said  Clinton. 

"You  ought  not' to  be,"  replied  his  father. 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  said  Clinton,  "I  had  made  up 
my  mind  just  how  I  would  treat  him,  hereafter,  and  I 
wanted  you  to  see  that  I  have  got  some  firmness  left ; 
but  now  I  shan't  have  any  opportunity  to  show  you 
what  I  can  do/ 


TESTING    RESOLUTIONS.  13i 

"  You  need  not  feel  any  regret  on  that  score,"  replied 
Mr.  Davenport.  "  It  is  easy  enough  to  form  good  res 
olutions,  but  perhaps  it  will  be  fortunate  for  you  if 
yours  are  never  put  to  a  severe  test.  But  even  if 
Jerry  does  not  return,  I  suspect  you  will  meet  with 
temptations  sufficient  to  prove  your  4i"ength  of  resist- 
^i^ce.     A  wise  man  never  courts  temptation." 


CHAPTER  X, 


THE      JOURNEY, 


TERRY  had  planned  his  flight  with  considerable 
care  and  skill,  for  a  boy  of  his  age ;  and  before  the 
time  came  for  him  to  take  the  first  step,  he  had  laid 
out  the  course  he  intended  to  pursue.  Dressed  in  his 
best  suit,  with  his  bundle  of  clean  clothes  under  his 
arm,  and  with  the  ill-gotten  thirty  dollars  stowed  away 
in  the  lower  corner  of  his  vest  pocket,  he  started  on 
his  journey  into  the  great  unknown  world.  He  walked 
for  many  a  weary  mile,  over  a  road  covered  with  snow 
that  had  recently  fallen  ;  but  the  sun  shone  pleasantly, 
and  the  weather  was  not  so  cold  but  that  he  sweat 
very  freely  from  his  exercise.  It  was  not  until  after 
sunset  that  he  reached  the  tavern  where  he  proposed 
to  spend  the  night.  This  tavern  was  a  large  wooden 
building,  -somewhat  dingy  with  age,  and  bore  upon  its 
front  a  faded,  weather-beaten  sign,  on  which  was  in- 


T  ii  K    B  A  rj  -  R  o  o  :m  .  133 

« 

Bcribed  tlie  name  of  its  proprietor.  Some  time  l^cfore 
Jerry  readied  the  building,  he  could  see  the  bright, 
cheerful  liorht  of  the  fire  shining  through  the  windows, 
and  flickering  and  flashing  over  the  wide,  level  field  of 
snow  which  separated  him  from  its  comfortable  shelter. 
Quickening  his  steps,  he  was  soon  at  the  door,  and 
without  stopping  to  knock,  he  entered  the  room  from 
which  he  had  seen  the  light. 

It  was  a  large  room,  with  sanded  floor,  and  the  walls 
were  covered  with   dingy  maps,  pictures,  stage  and 
railroad  bills,  advertisements  of  public  houses  in  other 
places,  and  various  other  things.     There  was  a  large, 
open  fire-place  on  one  side,  and  a  heap  of  glowing 
coals  and  blazing  logs  gave   the  room   a  very  com- 
fortable  and   attractive   aspect.      Several   men   were 
seated   around   the   fire,   in   chairs,   which   supported 
themselves  on  their  back  legs,  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees.     Two  or  three  of  the  company  were  smoking 
cigars,  the  fumes  of  which  filled  the  room  almost  to 
suffocation.     As  Jerry  entered,  the  men  all  seemed  to 
look  at  him  pretty  sharply,  and  as  he  laid  down  his 
bundle,  and  di'ew  a  chair  up  to  the  fire,  one  of  then? 
said, 

12 


134  JERRY    QUESTIONED. 

"Well,  young  man,  what  can  we  do  foi  you  ?" 

"  I   want    to    stay    here    to-night,"   replied   Jerry 
"  and  I  should   like  some  supper  too,  if  it  is  n't  too 
late." 

"How  far  have  you  come  to-day?"  inquired  the 
man. 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  answered  Jerry ;  "  I  should  think 
it  was  about  eighteen  miles." 

"  Running  away  from  home,  eh  ?  "  continued  the  in- 
quirer. 

"  No,  I  'm  not  running  away,  but  my  mother  has 
sent  me  to  Boston,  to  get  work."  And  Jerry  could 
utter  this  falsehood  with  so  honest  a  look  and  so 
smooth  a  tongue,  as  to  deceive  all  who  heard  him ! 

"What  is  your  name?"  continued  his  inquisitive 
host  —  for  it  was  the  keeper  of  the  tavern  that  put 
these  questions. 

"Jeremiah  Preston." 

"And  where  did  you  say  you  belong?** 

« In  Brookdale." 

"  And  are  you  going  to  take  the  stage  to-morrow 
morning  for  Boston?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 


AGOODSUPPER.  13 


The  tavern-keeper  made  several  other  inquiries, 
whiih  were  answered  to  his  satisfaction.  He  then  left 
the  room,  and  presently  returned  and  told  Jerry  that 
hh  supper  was  ready.  Following  his  host,  Jerry  en- 
tered a  long  room,  m  the  middle  of  which  stood  a  table, 
running  nearly  the  whole  length.  At  one  end  of  this 
table  were  spread  the  dishes  and  victuals  for  Jerry's 
supper,  the  rest  of  the  household  having  been  to  tea. 
There  were  warm  buscuits  and  butter,  rich  milk,  and 
smoking  tea,  nice-looking  cheese,  and  red,  juicy  apple- 
sauce,—  besides  a  plate  of  tempting  cakes,  and  pies 
of  two  kinds.  A  lady  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
then  left  him  to  help  liimself  to  the  eatables.  His  long 
walk  had  given  him  a  sharp  appetite,  and  he  availed 
himself  of  this  privilege  very  freely.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  never  sat  down  to  so  good  a  supper  before. 
He  ate  until  he  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  himself,  and 
then  left  off,  not  because  he  had  had  enough,  but  be- 
cause he  was  afraid  to  eat  more. 

The  demands  of  hunger  satisfied,  Jerry  began  to 
realize  how  tired  he  was.  He  accordingly  asked  the 
landlord  to  show  him  the  way  to  his  bed-room,  which 
the  latter  did.     Before  leaving  him  for  the  night,  the 


136  A.N     E  A  R  L  T     C  A  L  L  . 

landlord  told  Jerry  that  the  stage  started  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  that  he  would  call  him  in 
season  for  it.  Jerry  then  went  to  bed,  and  was  ;Oon 
lost  in  sound  sleep,  from  which  he  did  not  awake  till  a* 
loud  and  long-continued  rapping  on  his  door,  and  the 
repeated  cry  of  "  stage  ready ! "  at  length  elicited  from 
him  the  response,  "  I  hear."  Scarcely  knowing  where 
he  was,  or  what  all  the  disturbance  was  about,  he 
leaped  out  of  bed,  and  was  soon  dressed,  and  ready 
to  resume  his  journey.  His  tavern  bill  was  fifty  cents, 
which  he  paid,  and  without  stopping  for  breakfast,  he 
took  his  seat  in  the  stage  that  stood  waiting  at  the  door. 
It  was  quite  dark,  and  the  snow  was  falling  fast,  a 
driving  wind  piling  it  up  in  drifts.  The  stage,  as  it 
was  called,  was  a  large  covered  sleigh,  with  three  long 
seats  inside.  Having  fastened  down  the  woollen  cur- 
tains to  keep  out  the  snow,  the  driver  mounted  his  seat, 
gave  the  word  to  the  horses,  and  away  they  ztarted. 

For  a  large  portion  of  the  way,  Jerry  was  the  only 
passenger.  Now  and  then  he  could  hear  the  crack  of 
the  whip  above  the  noise  of  the  storm,  and  the  sound 
of  the  horses'  bells,  deadened  by  the  snow  and  wet, 
was  just  audible.     He  could  see  nothing,  for  it  was  not 


THE    STAGE    RIDE.  137 

yet  day-light,  and  besides,  he  was  a  close  prisoner.  lie 
could  not  even  tell  which  way  the  vehicle  was  going. 
Sometimes  he  thought  it  went  sideways,  and  then  again 
it  would  seem  to  be  going  backwards.  Sometimes, 
with  a  jerk  and  a  bounce  he  would  be  almost  thrown 
from  his  seat,  —  and  at  other  times,  it  would  seem  as  if 
it  were  impossible  to  escape  upsetting.  For  a  while,  he 
was  much  amused  with  his  situation,  but  at  length  he 
began  to  grow  tired  of  the  continual  thumping  and  jolt- 
ing, and  longed  to  see  the  end  of  the  journey.  Several 
more  passengers  were  picked  up,  as  they  passed 
through  other  villages,  which,  with  the  appearance  of 
daylight,  served  to  enliven  spmewhat  the  remainder  of 
the  way.  But  Jeny  was  not  sorry  when  the  driver 
reined  up  the  horses  in  front  of  one  of  the  hotels  in 
Waterville.  Hungry  and  benumbed  with  cold,  he  en- 
tered the  public  house,  and  spoke  for  breakfast,  which 
was  furnished  very  soon,  as  passengers  wer6  expected 
by  the  stage.  For  this  he  paid  twenty-five  cents.  It 
was  a  very  good  breakfast,  and  well  worth  the  money ; 
but  he  could  not  help  thinking  how  many  meals,  quite 
as  good  as  this,  he  had  eaten  at  home,  without  paying 

12* 


138  WATERVILLE. 

fiuytliing  for  them.     He  began  to  feel  the  diflerence 
between  living  at  home  and  living  abroad. 

After  breakfast,  Jerry  ascertained  that  he  had  abjut 
two  hours  to  spare,  before  the  cars  started,  which  he 
ihought  he  would  spend  in  looking  about.  Waterville 
seemed  to  him  to  be  quite  a  large  and  bustling  place 
The  houses  were  numerous,  and  many  of  them  were 
very  elegant.  There  were  also  plenty  of  stores  and 
work-shops,  and  quite  a  number  of  churches.  The 
Kennebec  river,  on  one  bank  of  which  the  town  is 
built,  was  frozen  over,  and  the  saw-mills  were  not  in 
operation.  He  went  on  to  the  covered  bridge,  which 
crosses  the  Kennebec,  where  he  obtained  a  good  view 
of  the  river,  the  mills,  and  a  portion  of  the  town.  On 
a  hill,  a  short  distance  from  the  centre  of  the  town,  he 
saw  three  large  brick  buildings,  one  of  which  had  a 
cupola.  On  inquiring  </  a  boy  what  they  were,  he 
was  told  they  were  "  the  colleges." 

Jerry  now  directed  his  steps  to  the  railroad  depot, 
"where  he  found  preparations  making  for  the  train  of 
which  he  was  to  be  a  passenger.  After  examining 
the  locomotive,  cars,  depot,  switches,  turn-tables,  sig- 
nals, etc.,  all  of  which  possessed  the  charm  of  novelt^y 


RAILROAD    TRAVELLING.  139 

to  him;  he  seated  himself  in  the  train,  i^oon  the  sig 
nal  was  given  for  starting  ;  the  engine  commenced  its 
at  first  slow  but  gradually  quickening  puffs  ;  the  bell 
rang  to  v^firn  people  of  the  approach  of  the  train,  anil 
iL  a  few  minutes  they  were  under  full  headway.  Jerry 
bud  travelled  by  railroad  once  or  twice  before,  but  the 
novelty  of  the  thing  had  not  worn  off,  and  he  watched 
the  movements  of  the  train,,  and  the  snow-covered 
country  through  which  they  passed,  with  a  good-deal 
of  interest.  On  they  flev/,  over  hills  and  valleys, 
throu";h  forests  and  villa";es,  over  rivers  and  under 
roads.  The  storm  had  ceased,  and  the  snow  on  the 
track  was  not  sufficient  to  impede  their  progress.  Oc- 
casionally they  stopped  to  take  up  or  drop  a  passenger, 
or  to  replenish  the  engine  with  water  and  fuel.  The 
ride,  however  was  a  long  one,  —  eighty-two  miles,  — 
and  it  was  three  hours  and  a  half  before  they  reached 
Portland.  Aftei  a  while  Jerry  grew  tired  of  looking 
at  strange  scenes,  and  then  his  thoughts  waadered  back 
to  the  home  he  had  left.  How  he  wished  he  could 
look  in  unperceived,  for  a  moment,  and  see  what  iiis 
mother  was  doing !  Was  she  sorry  or  angary,  that  he 
had  run  away  .''  Would  she  try  to  get  him  back  again  ? 


140  ALONGRIDE. 

What  would  the  neighbors  say  about  his  disappearance  ? 
And  then  he  \Yondered  how  his  sisters  felt  about  losing 
their  brother.  Little  Mary,  the  youngest,  he  thought 
would  be  sad,  for  she  seemed  to  love  him  better  than 
the  others  did,  —  perhaps,  because  her  affectionate  dis- 
position and  tender  age  did  not  allow  him  to  treat  hor 
BO  rudely  as  he  did  Emily  and  Harriet.  He  wished 
that  he  had  bidden  her  good-by,  for  really,  he  was  just 
learninoj  that  he  felt  somethino;  l\ke  affection  towards 
her.  Such  were  the  thoughts  that  were  passing 
through  his  mind,  when  the  train  stopped  at  the  depot 
in  Portland. 

Jerry liad  bought  a  through-ticket  for  Boston,  and 
was  obliged  to  continue  his  journey  without  stopping 
in  Portland.  He  did  not  have  time  even  to  eat  dinner, 
but  bought  some  cakes  and  a  glass  of  milk  at  a  re- 
freshment room  in  the  depot,  and  then  seated  himself 
in  another  train  bound  for  Boston.  Nothing  occurred, 
worthy  of  notice,  during  the  trip.  It  grew  dark  before 
the  train  had  proceeded  a  third  of  its  distance,  and  the 
lamps  in  the  cars  were  lighted.  Of  course  ::iOthing 
fould  be  sfeen,  out-side,  save  the  lights  in  the  villages 
thr'^ugh  which   they   passed.      It  was   nearly   eight 


ARRIVAL    AT    BOSTON  141 

o'clock  in  the  evening  nv  hen  the  train  entered  a  large 
building,  lighted  by  gas  lanterns,  and  the  passengers 
made  a  general  movement  towards  the  car-doors.   Jerry 
followed  the  others,  and  soon  found,  as  he  had  already 
suspected,  that  he  was  in  Boston.    The  locomotive  was 
not  to  be  seen,  having  been  switched  off  ujDon  another 
track  before  the  cars  entered  the  depot ;  and  the  bag- 
gage car,  which  followed  immediately  after  the  engine 
and  tender,  was  now  unhitched  from  the  cars,  and  some 
men  were  pushing  it  forward  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
depot.     Here  there  was  a  raised  platform,  where  the 
baggage    could  be  delivered,   and  which   was  fenced 
round,  so  that  no  person  could  get  at  the  car  to  help 
themselves.      The   passengers   soon  began   to   crowd 
around  in  search  of  their  baggage,  which  was  passed 
out  as  fast  as  possible  by  men  in  the  car.     Each  trunk, 
vaUse,  box,  etc.,  had  a  number  affixed  to  it,  on  a  littlo 
brass  tag,  or  check ;  and  as  each  passenger  had  re- 
ceived a  check  with  a  number  corresponding  to  that  on 
his  trunk,  the  baggage-master  had  no  difficulty  in  tell- 
ing  to  whom  each    article   belonged.     These  checks 
were  given  to  the  passengers  when  their  baggage  was 
received  at  the  depot  in  Portland,  and  on  surrendering 


142  THE     DEPOT. 

them  in  the  Boston  depot,  they  were  sure  of  receiviiig 
back  their  own  baggage.  As  Jerry's  bundle  was  small, 
he  did  not  have  it  put  among  the  baggage,  but  took  it 
with  him  into  the  cars. 

A  large  number  of  men,  with  silver  numbers  on  their 
hats,  were  moving  about  among  the  passengers,  accost* 
ing  almost  everybody  that  they  met  with  the  words,  "Cab, 
sir  ?  "  "  Hack,  madam  ?  "  "  Ride  up,  sir  ?"  etc.     On  go- 
ing to  the  door,  Jerry  saw  that  there  were  a   great 
many  coaches  and  cabs  ai'ranged  along  the  side-walk, 
waiting  for  the  passengers.  He  was  surprised  to.  find  that 
all  these  vehicles  were  on  wheels,  and  that  the  streets 
were  quite  destitute  of  snow.     He  had  not  seen  bare 
ground  before  for  several  months ;   for  in  Brookdale 
the  snow  often  falls  in  the  latter  part  of  November, 
and  does  not  disappear  till  late  in  March.      Boston  be- 
ing farther  south  and  nearer  the  sea-coast,  the  snow 
does  not  accumulate  in  such  quantities,  Jior  remain  so 
long  upon  the  ground,  as  it  does  in  that  part  of  Maine 
where  Jerry  belonged. 

Jerry  now  thought  it  was  time  to  hunt  up  quarters 
for  the  night.  He  was  wholly  unacquainted  with  the 
streets,  but  he  knew  there  were  a  great  many  public 


HAY MARKET    SQUARE. 


143 


houses  in  the  city ;  and  he  supposed  he  should  not 
have  to  go  far,  in  any  direction,  to  find  one.  On  leav- 
ing the  depot,  he  found  himself  in  a  large,  open  square, 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  tall  buildings.  In  the  cen- 
tre of  the  square  was  a  circular  enclosure,  surrounded 


by  an  iron  fence  and  a  brick  ^ide-walk;  and  in  the 
centre  of  that  was  a  tall,  iron  post  supporting  a  gas- 
lamp.  This  was  Haymarket  Square.  Eight  different 
streets  lead  out  of  it,  in  various  directions,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  Jerry  could  decide  which  to  take. 
He  at  length  chose  one  and  started  on  his  way,  not 


1 44  THE    HOTEL     CLERK. 

knowing  whither  it  would  lead  him.  He  had  not  gone 
far  before  he  saw  a  building,  which  he  thought  might 
be  a  hotel,  and  on  inquiring  of  the  driver  of  a  carriage 
which  was  standing  before  the  door,  he  was  told  that  it 
was  a  public  house.  He  accordingly  ascended  the 
steps,  and  entered  the  room  which  had  the  word, 
"  Office,"  painted  over  the  door.  Several  men  were 
seated  around  a  very  large  stove,  reading ;  and  an- 
other  was  sitting  at  a  desk,  behind  a  counter  that  ex- 
tended across  mie  end  of  the  room.  Going  up  to  the 
latter,  Jerry  said  :  — 

"  Can  I  stay  here  to-night,  sir  ?  " 

The  man  addressed,  —  who  was  the  clerk  of  the  ho- 
tel, —  eyed  the  stranger  somewhat  sharply  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  inquired  :  — 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?" 

"  Brookdale,"  replied  Jerry. 

"Brookdale,  —  I  never  heard  of  that  place;  where 
is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  in  Maine,"  answered  Jerry,  who  was  rathe. 
Eurprised  that  the  man  should  ask  such  a  question. 

"  Come  from  there  to-day  ?  "  continued  the  clerk, 

"  Yes,  sir." 


JERRY    BOOKED.  145 

*  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  in  Boston  ?  '* 

"  I  'm  going  to  sea." 

"  Have  you  got  any  baggage  ?  ** 

"Nothing  but  this,"  repHed  Jerry,  holding  up  his 
bundle. 

"  We  do  n't  like  to  take  strangers,  who  hav  n*t  any 
baggage,"  continued  the  man ;  "  they  sometimes  step 
out  very  suddenly,  wdthout  settling  their  bills." 

"  If  you  are  afraid  to  trust  me,  I  can  pay  you  in  ad- 
vance," replied  Jerry,  who  began  to  fear  he  should 
have  to  seek  further  for  lodsfings. 

"  O,  never  mind  that,"  said  the  clerk ;  "  you  look  hon- 
est enough ;  and  as  you  're  fresh  from  the  country,  I 
aint  afraid  ^o  trust  you.  Put  your  name  in  that  book,'* 
he  continued,  handing  Jerry  a  pen,  and  placing  a  large 
book  on  the  counter. 

This  book  was  the  register  of  the  house,  and  each 
gwest  who  stopped  there  recorded  in  it  his  name  and 
place  of  residence.  Jerry  wrote  his  name  as  well  as 
hf?  iould,  —  which  is  not  saying  a  great  deal,  —  and 
then  inquired  if  he  could  not  have  something  to  eat 
The  clerk  replied  in  the  affirmative ;  and,  in  a  Httle 
while,  Jerry  was  summoned  into  another  room,  where 

13 


146  THE     BED-ROOM. 

he  found  a  good  supper  provided,  of  which  he  ate  with 
a  keeD  lelish  after  his  long  fast.  Having  finished  his 
meal,  he  told  the  clerk  he  was  tired,  and  should  like  to 
go  to  bed.  The  latter  gave  a  pull  at  a  cord  and  tassel, 
which  rang  a  bell  in  another  part  of  the  house.  A 
eervant  quickly  answered  the  summons,  and  was  di- 
rected to  show  Jerry  to  No.  69.  Following  the 
servant.  Jerry  passed  through  several  narrow  entries, 
and  ascended  four  lono^  flisrhts  of  stairs,  and  turned 
more  corners  than  he  could  remember,  before  he 
reached  his  sleeping-room.  It  was  a  small  room,  and 
had  but  a  few  plain  articles  of  furniture.  Jerry  was 
too  tired,  however,  to  give  much  attention  to  these 
things.  He  was  soon  in  bed,  and  sleeping  as  soundly 
as  though  jnder  his  father's  rooC 


CHAPTER  XI. 


BOSTON. 


^[^IlE  sun,  streaming  in  from  the  windov/,  awoke 
Jerry  from  his  slumbers,  after  his  first  night  in 
Boston.  On  getting  up  he  found  that  his  room  was 
hidier  than  the  surrounding  buildinsrs,  affordino;  an 
extensive  prospect.  One  of  the  first  objects  that  met 
his  eye  he  concluded  must  be  Bunker  Hill  Monument, 
as  it  resembled  the  eno-ravings  he  had  seen  of  that 
structure.  There  were  a  great  many  church-steeples 
in  sight,  and  the  houses  seemed  to  be  crowded  together 
almost  as  close  as  they  could  be  packed.  He  could 
also  see  a  strip  of  water,  with  numerous  vessels,  one 
or  two  of  which  were  very  large,  noble-looking  shipa. 
These  last  were  men-of-war,  belonging  to  the  Ameri- 
can Government,  and  were  anchored  off  the  Navy- 
Yard  at  Charlestown. 

But  Jerry  did  not  stop  to  gaze  long  at  the  novel 


148  THENEXTSTEP. 

scene  spread  before  him.  Other  matters  claimed  his 
attention.  As  he  dressed  himself  he  began  to  consider 
what  he  should  do  next.  He  was  acquainted  with  but 
one  family  in  the  place,  —  that  of  his  uncle,  —  and  he 
did  not  dare  to  go  to  them,  lest  they  should  send  him 
back  to  his  home.  If  Oscar  had  only  been  at  home, 
be  would  have  lost  no  time  in  seeing  him ;  but  he 
knew,  from  letters  received  by  his  parents,  that  his 
wayward  cousin  had  gone  to  sea,  several  months  be- 
fore. A  stranger,  in  a  great  city,  with  no  one  to  advise 
or  assist,  and  cast  entirely  upon  his  own  resources,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  Jerry  felt  rather  dull,  that 
morning.  And  yet  he  did  not  wish  to  return  to  his 
home,  and  his  greatest  fear  was  that  his  friends  would 
discover  where  he  was.  He  thought  it  would  not  be 
safe  to  stay  long  in  Boston,  and  so  he  determined  to 
try  at  once  to  get  a  chance  to  go  to  sea  —  a  design  on 
which  he  had  set  his  heart,  before  he  started  from 
home. 

Jerry's  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  ringing 
of  a  large  bell,  in  the  entry  below,  and  thinking  it 
might  be  the  summons  to  breakfast,  he  went  down. 
I"  ollowing  the  current   of  men  and  women,  he  found 


BREAKFAST.  149 

himseli  in  a  large  hall,  in  which  a  lorg  table  was 
spread.  Th(i  man  with  whom  he  had  the  convocation 
the  night  before,  was  there,  and  beckoned  him  to  a 
chair  at  the  table.  There  were  thirty  or  forty  persons 
at  the  table,  and  the  rattling  of  dishes,  the  clatter  of 
knives  and  forks,  and  the  low  hum  of  conversation, 
soon  commenced  in  good  earnest.  Some  six  or  eight 
young  men,  in  slippers  and  jackets,  and  wearing  small 
white  aprons,  were  continually  flying  back  and  forth, 
behind  the  boarders,  bringing  cups  of  tea  and  coffee, 
and  passing  dishes  to  those  who  could  not  reach  them. 
Sometimes  half  a  dozen  persons  would  order  as  many 
different  things,  of  the  same  waiter,  almost  at  the  same 
moment,  and  Jerry  thought  the  man  must  be  puzzled 
to  know  which  to  get  first ;  but  in  a  minute  he  would 
return,  and  hand  to  each  the  article  which  he  ordered. 
The  skill  which  these  men  acquire  in  their  business, 
by  practice,  is  often  quite  remarkable  to  one  unaccus- 
tcmed  to  the  sight. 

The  company  did  not  all  leave  the  table  at  once, 
but  one  or  two  at  a  time,  just  as  they  happened  to 
finish  their  meal.  Jerry  having  eaten  all  he  desired, 
arose  and  went  to  the  oflice.     The  clerk  of  the  hotel 

13* 


150  CROWDED     STREETS. 

entered,  soon  after,  and  Jeriy  took  the  opportunity  ti 
pay  his  bill,  which  amounted  to  seventy-five  cents 
With  his  bundle  in  hand,  he  now  started  off,  with  tht 
dasign  of  shipping  for  a  voyage,  or,  if  he  could  not 
dc  this,  of  procuring  a  cheap  boarding  place,  where 
he  might  remain  until  he  could  find  a  chance  to  go  to 
Bea. 

The  streets  were  full  of  people,  who  all  seemed  in- 
tent on  going  somewhere,  as  fast  as  possible.  Jerry, 
as  he  slowly  passed  along  toward  the  point  where  he 
had  seen  the  ships  from  his  chamber  window,  was 
jostled  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  and  it 
required  no  little  effort  to  dodge  the  current  which  was 
sweeping  by  him.  This  was  partly  because  he  did 
not  keep  to  the  right  side  of  the  walk,  as  is  the  usual 
custom  in  cities,  but  turned  sometimes  to  the  left,  and 
sometimes  to  the  right,  and  sometimes  took  the  centre. 
Few  of  the  persons  he  met  seemed  to  take  any  notice 
of  him.  Two  boys,  however,  whose  dress  was  better 
than  their  manners,  stopped  almost  directly  in  front  of 
him,  and  stared  at  him  until  he  passed  by,  with  a  com- 
ical expression  on  their  faces.  A  loud  laugh,  and  the 
ixjAriiSaion,   "Aint   he  green,   SamT'    which  reached 


NOVEL     SIGHTS.  151 

the  ears  of  Jerry,  immediately  after,  explained   their 
conduct. 

The  horses  and  carriagei  in  the  street  were  quite  aa 
novel  a  sight  to  Jerry,  as  the  strange  faces  he  met  on 
the  side  walk.  A  continuous  line  of  vehicles,  of  all 
descriptions,  was  passing  back  and  forth.  There  were 
long  trucks,  with  two  or  three  noble  horses  harnessed 
"tandem,"  and  short  cabs,  which  looked  as  though 
they  had  been  curtailed  of  their  original  proportions ; 
ponderous  carts,  with  broad  wheels,  and  light,  gaily- 
painted  express  wagons;  omnibusses  and  coaches, 
chaises  and  buggies,  wheel-barrows  and  hand  carts,  all 
passing  in  an  endless  procession.  Jerry  observed  one 
little  incident  that  highly  amused  him.  A  small  boy, 
intent  on  having  a  free  ride,  got  upon  the  steps  at  the 
end  of  a  passing  omnibus ;  but  he  had  hardly  settled 
himself  into  a  comfortable  position,  when  a  passenger 
inside,  wh:  had  watched  his  proceedings,  reached  hig 
hand  through  the  open  window,  and  seizing  his  cap, 
threw  it  high  into  the  air.  The  lad's  face  was  in  an  in- 
stant red  with  passion,  and  giving  the  man  a  look 
which  said  as  plain  as  looks  could  speak,  "  I  'd  pay 
^*ou  for  that  —  if  I  could,"  away  he  ran   to  recover 


152  THE     SHIPPING. 

his  cap,  which  had  fallen  into  the  street ;  and  so  the 
poor  boy  lost  both  his  ride,  and  his  temper. 

Jerry  continued  his  walk,  and  soon  found  himself  in 
the   neighborhood    of    the   shipping.       Most  of    the 
wharres,  in  this  locality,  are  covered  with  coal,  wood, 
lumber,  lime,  and  other  products  of  the  coasting  trade. 
Nearly  all  of  the  vessels  lying  at  these  wharves  were 
email,  and  Jerry  noticed  that  many  of  them  came  from 
ports  in  the  State  of  Maine,  the  names  of  the  towns 
where  they  belonged  being  painted  upon  their  sterns. 
There  was  nothing  very  inviting  to  Jerry,  about  these 
wharves,  and  he  passed  on.     Presently,  the  wharves 
began  to  grow  longer,  and  the  vessels  larger.     At  one 
place  he  encountered   quite  a  crowd  of  people,  and 
several   teams  and  carriages,  which  were   coming  up 
from  one  of  these  wharves.     This  was  the  slip  of  the 
Chelsea  ferry-boats.     Seeing  a  steamboat  at  the  end 
of  the  wharf,  Jerry  turned  in,  to  look  at   it ;  but  just 
before  reaching  the  boat,  he  was  stopped  by  a  man  in 
a  toll-house,  who  told  him  that  he  could  not  pass  with- 
out paying  the  fare.     Not  wishing  to  go  to  Chelsea,  at 
that  time,  Jerry  turned  back,   and  resumed  his  walk 
along  C<^mmercial  street. 


PEOPLE     HE     MET  153 

As  Jerry  kept  on,  the  shipping  began  to  grow  more 
numerous,  and  almost  everything  he  saw  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  the  sea.     The  most  common  signs  on 
tlie   street   were  "  Naval  Stores,"  •*  Ship  Chandlery," 
"  Sail   Loft,"  "  Commission  Merchant,"   etc. ;  and  oB 
most  of  the  wharves  were  long  blocks  of  warehouses 
and  stores,  some  of  which  were  built  of  granite,  and 
made   a  very   imposing   and   substantial  appearance. 
Sailors  were  plenty,  too.     Some  of  them  were  "  old 
salts"  with  great  brown  hands,  and  grizzled  locks,  and 
little  gold  rings  in  their  ears,  and  leather  belts  around 
their  waists,  in  which  they  carried  their  sheath-knives. 
Some  were  young  men,  whose  sun-burnt  faces  were 
half  buried  in  huge,  dark   whiskers,  and   whose   pea- 
jackets  and  pantaloons  bore  witness  that  they  were  not 
unacquainted   with    grease     and    tar.      Occasionally, 
Jerry  would  meet  a  lad  about  his  own  size,  whose  dark 
blue  pants,  fitting  snugly  around  the  waist  and  worn 
"without  suspenders,  —  and  neat  blue  jacket,  with    a 
turned  down  shirt  collar  of  the  same  color,  edged  with 
white,  —  and   shining  tarpaulin   hat,  stuck  upon   the 
back  of  his  head,  —  at  once  excited  hjs  admiration  and 
«nvy.  • 


154  THE     WHARF. 

Jerry  now  thought  it  time  to  look  around  among  .he 
vessels,  and  see  if  he  could  accomplish  the  object  of 
Lis  journey.  He  accordingly  turned  down  a  wharf  at 
which  some  twenty  or  thirty  craft  of  various  kinds 
were  lying,  with  the  determination  of  applying  to  each 
one  of  them  for  a  situation,  in  regular  order,  until  he 
should  be  successful.  The  first  two  or  three  vessels 
which  he  approached  were  apparently  deserted.  No 
person  was  to  be  seen  about  them,  and  of  course  they 
aflforded  no  chance  for  Jerry.  The  next  vessel  he 
came  to  was  a  large  ship,  which  towered  so  high  out 
of  the  water  that  he  could  see  nothinor  of  the  deck 
from  where  he  stood.  There  were  some  steps  leading 
from  the  wharf  to  the  deck,  which  Jerry  ascended. 
The  only  person  on  board  he  could  see  was  a  negro, 
who  was  in  a  little  house  built  upon  the  deck,  from  the 
top  of  which  smoke  w-as  issuing  through  a  stove-pipe. 
This  place  w^as  the  caboose,  or  kitchen  of  the-  ship,  and 
its  inmate  was  the  cook.  To  the  inquiry  whether  a 
boy  was  w^anted  on  board,  a  gruff  "  No "  was  the  only 
response.  Jerry  descended  to  the  wharf,  and  continued 
his  walk,  though  with  little  success.  On  board  some 
of  ihe  vessels,  the  men  were«  so  busy  at  their  laboi-e 


THE     BRIG.  i55 

that  he  could  get  no  answer  to  his  inquiries  ;  and  those 
who  did  notice  him  so  much  as  to  reply,  were  sure  to 
eay  "  No." 

Jerry's  hopes  began  to  fall  very  fast,  and  he  felt  his 
courage  giving  way,  in  consequence  of  these  continued 
rebuffs.  Still  he  thought  he  would  not  give  up  his 
purpose  yet,  and  so  he  passed  along.  He  received  the 
usual  reply,  from  the  next  vessel  he  approached,  and 
had  just  turned  away,  when  he  heard  somebody  cry 
out:  — 

"  Hallo,  there,  what  youngster  is* that?" 

On  looking  round,  Jerry  saw  that  the  voice  came 
from  a  brig  which  was  slowly  moving  past  the  vessel 
on  whose  deck  he  stood. 

"  He  's  a  chap  that  wants  to  ship,"  replied  the  sailor 
to  whom  Jerry  had  spoken. 

"  You  aint  the  boy  that  shipped  with  us  yesterday, 
are  you?"  continued  the  man  on  board  the  brig,  aa 
Jerry  turned  towards  him. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Jerry,  "  but  I  should  like  to  ship 
with  you." 

"  Well,  come  along  then  —  we  're   off  this  mjnute. 


156  GOING     TO     SEA 

and  can  't  wait  for  the  other  fellow.     You  may  take 
his  place  —  only  be  spry  about  it." 

Here  the  man,  who  was  captain  of  the  brig,  gave 
Bome  orders  in  a  loud  tone  to  the  crew,  which  were  un- 
intelligible to  Jerry.  In  a  moment  the  brig  was  hauled 
to  along  side  the  vessel  m  which  Jerry  was  waiting, 
and,  in  his  confusion  scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he 
quickly  jumped  over  the  railing,  into  the  brig.  The 
sailors  then  re-commenced  hauling  her  out  from  the 
dock  into  the  stream.  Jerry  threw  his  bundle  down 
upon  the  deck,  and  'stood  watching  the  movements  of 
those  around  him.  He  could  scarcely  realize  that  he 
was  going  to  sea,  in  this  unceremonious  manner,  and 
began  to  suspect  that  the  sailors  were  playing  a  joke 
upon  him.  But  all  seemed  in  earnest,  and  as  busy  as 
they  could  be,  and  on  the  whole  he  concluded  ihey 
were  not  sporting  with  him.  No  one  spoke  to  him, 
however,  or  set  him  to  work,  and  as  he  was  as  yet 
totally  unacquainted  with  the  duties  of  a  sailor-boy,  he 
did  not  venture  to  volunteer  his  services.  But  his  long- 
cherished  hopes  were  realized,  and  his  heart  beat  fast 
at  the  prospect  before  him.     Strange  boy       Hr  had 


THOUGHTLESSNESS.  157 

shipped  with  no  outfit  for  the  voyage,  and  he  did  not 
know  where  he  was  bound,  nor  even  the  name 
of  the  vessel,  or  of  the  captain.  He  did  not  know 
what  wages  he  w^as  to  receive,  what  duties  he 
was  expected  to  perform,  or  how  long  he  was  to  be 
absent.  And  jet  he  thought  of  none  of  these  things^ 
so  dehghted  was  he  to  find  himself  actually  afloat. 
One  by  one  the  white  sails  of  the  brig  were  spread  to 
the  wind,  and  she  was  soon  in  full  headway  towards 
the  broad  ocean. 


CHAPTER   XIL 

THE      SAILOR-BOY. 

T^OR  the  first  few  hours  at  sea.  Jerry  was  little  better 
than  a  piece  of  lumber,  in  everybody's  way. 
Nobody  told  him  what  to  do,  and,  indeed,  he  was 
pretty  diligently  employed  in  watching  the  quick 
movements  of  the  sailors,  for  the  purpose  of  dodging 
out  of  their  path.  But,  with  all  his  alertness,  he  was 
not  quick  enough  to  avoid  being  sometimes  rudely 
shoved  one  side,  with  a  muttered  imprecation  on  his 
head  for  getting  in  the  way.  The  city  now  began  to 
recede  rapidly  from  view.  The  State  House  dome, 
the  church  spires,  and  the  forest  of  ship-masts  al(.i;g 
the  water-side,  were  all  that  could  be  distinguished  Id 
the  city  proper.  East  Boston,  with  clouds  of  smoke 
ascending  from  its  numerous  foundries,  was  in  full 
view  in  the  distance ;  while  nearer  at  band,  on  the 
right,  was  South  Boston,  with  its  highlands,  its  large 


THE     OCEAN.  159 

public  buildings,  and  its  many  ^vorli  shops  with  tall 
chimneys.  The  last  sound  that  came  from  shore,  was 
the  striking  of  the  church  clocks.  There  was  a  brisk 
north-west  wind,  before  which  the  brig  dashed  along  al 
a  rapid  rate.  Soon  they  were  sailing  between  tw^o  for- 
tresses, situated  on  islands  about  a  mile  apart,  and 
commanding  the  only  channel  by  which  large  vessels 
can  enter  or  leave  the  port.  Several  other  islands 
were  in  sight,  on  some  of  which  there  were  large 
buildings.  They  also  passed  near  two  light-houses  — 
tall  towers  built  on  islands,  with  dw^elling-houses  near 
by  for  their  keepers.  Towards  noon,  the  pilot,  whose 
business  it  is  to  guide  vessels  in  and  out  of  the  harbor, 
took  leave  of  the  brig,  and  returned  to  port  in  a  small 
sail-bo^t.  But  little  land  was  now  in  sight,  and  the 
broad  ocean,  dotted  with  white  sails,  was  spread  out 
before  them. 

The  sun  shone  pleasantly  upon  the  waters,  but  the 
wind  was  raw  and  cold,  and  Jerry  began  to  realize 
that  he  must  stir  about  to  keep  warm.  He  was  slowly 
sauntering  along,  to  see  for  the  fiftieth  time  if  he  could 
find  anything  to  do,  when  he  was  accosted  in  a  rough 
roi«^  by  one  of  the  men,  w^ho  said :  — 


160  THE     FIP^T     LESSON. 

*'  Here,  you  land-lubber,  did  you  ship  for  a  gentle- 
man, or  a  figure-liead,  or  what  do  vou  mean  to  do  with 
yourself?  " 

"  I  mean  to  do  my  duty,  if  anybody  will  tell  me 
what  it  is,"  replied  Jerry,  who  did  not  like  the  tone  in 
Tfhich  he  was  addressed,  and  answered  accordingly. 
The  surly  manner  in  which  this  was  said,  was  more 
objectionable  than  the  language  itself.  In  an  instant, 
the  man  to  whom  it  was  addressed  (who  was  the  chief- 
mate),  gave  Jerry  a  blow  with  his  hard  fist,  which  sent 
the  boy  reeling  across  the  deck. 

"  There,  you  young  snapping-turtle,"  said  he,  "that's 
your  first  lesson  ;  and  hereafter  look  out  when  you  're 
spoken  to,  and  give  a  civil  answer,  or  I  '11  crack  your 
tow-head  for  you.  Now  bear  a  hand  here,  and  clean 
out  that  pig-pen,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  a  shovel 
and  scrubbing  brush  standing  in  one  corner. 

Pigs  and  f)oultry  are  frequently  carried  to  sea,  to 
furnish  a  supply  of  fresh  meat  for  passengers  and  sail- 
ors ;  but  these  particular  pigs,  to  w'hose  acquaintance 
Jerry  was  so  summarily  introduced,  were  themselves 
passengers,  on  their  way  to  a  foreign  land.  A  small 
pen  had  been  fitted  up  for  them  on  deck,  and  as  clean. 


SEA-SICKNESS.  161 

liness  is  one  of  the  cardinal  virtues  on  ship-board,  it 
was  necessary  that  they  should  be  continually  looked 
after.  And  cleaning  out  a  hog-sty  was  to  be  Jerry's 
fij'st  experience  of  "  a  life  on  the  ocean  wave  !  "  Had 
any  one  at  home  ordered  him  to  do  such  a  job,  it  is 
very  dtubtful  whether  he  would  have  obeyed ;  but 
here,  after  the  lesson  he  had  just  received,  he  dare  not 
refuse  or  even  hesitate,  and  so  he  leaped  into  the  pen, 
scraped  up  the  filth,  and  threw  it  overboard. 

Shortly  after  Jerry  had  completed  this  useful  but 
most  unromantic  task,  he  began  to  gi'ow  ill.  His 
stomach  rolled  and  pitched  with  the  brig,  and  his  head 
was  light  and  dizzy.  When  he  walked  he  reeled  like 
a  drunken  man,  and  the  deck  seemed  about  to  fly  up 
into  his  face.  Every  moment,  his  sensations  became 
more  distressing.  He  laid  himself  down  in  a  sheltered 
part  of  the  deck,  but  found  no  rehef.  His  pale,  wo- 
be-gone  countenance  bore  the  impress  of  his  misery 
O,  how  he  wished  he  was  once  more  on  shore  !  How 
he  cursed  in  his  heart  the  hour  that  he  turned  hia 
wayward  steps  from  Brookdale  !  As  the  motion  of 
the  vessel  rolled  him  about  like  a  log,  he  almost  wished 
that  it  might  pitch  him  overboard,  and  thus  put  an  end 

14* 


162 


A    SAILORS     PRANK. 


to  his  misery.  Should  such  an  accident  hapjeii,  it 
seemed  to  him  he  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  escape 
a  watery  grave.  Such  thoughts  as  these  were  passing 
through  the  brain  of  the  sea-sick  boy,  when  some  one 
'tole  slyly  up  behind  him,  and  dropped  a  large  piece 
of  greasy  salt  pork  almost  directly  into  his    mouth. 


Any  fatty  substance  is  very  disagreeable  to  a  sei 
eick  person;  and  this  mischievous  prank,  with  the 
laughter  and  jibe-s;  of  the  sailors  which  followed  it,  put 
the  climax  upor    >lie  misery  of  Jerry.     He  got  upon 


GOING    TOBED.  165 

[u6  feet,  and,  clinging  to  the  rail,  began  io  vomit,  or 
"  throw  up  Jonah,"  as  the  sailors  term  it.  The  more 
he  retched,  and  gagged,  and  groaned,  the  more  his  tor- 
mentors ridiculed  him.  The  most  conspicuous  among 
them  was  a  raw,  freckle-faced  lad,  apparently  a  little  older 
than  Iiims^lf,  who  was  now  on  his  second  voyage,  and 
was  retaliatmg  upon  Jerry  the  treatment  he  had  him- 
self suffered  but  six  or  eight  months  before.  He  it 
was  that  dropped  the  pork  into  Jerry's  face.  The 
sailors  called  him  Bob,  for  they  seldom  use  any  but 
nick-names,  and  those  of  the  shortest  kind. 

Jerry  remained  upon  the  deck  nearly  all  the  after- 
noon ;  and  no  one,  from  Bob  to  the  Captain,  took  any 
notice  of  him,  except  to  laugh  at  his  condition.  Sea- 
sick people  generally  get  but  little  sympathy  from  old 
salts.  Towards  sunset,  feeling  no  better,  Jerry  asked 
one  of  the  sailors  if  he  would  please  to  show  him  to 
his  bed-room,  —  for,  in  his  simplicity,  it  had  never  oo 
cun*ed  to  him  that  a  bed-room,  and  even  a  bed,  wer^ 
iixuries  that  did  not  belong  to  the  sea.  The  old  tar, 
with  the  utmost  gravity,  called  out :  — 

"  Come   here.  Bob,  —  this   'ere    young    gentleman 
rants  you  to  show  him  the  way  up  to  his  bed-r*)om." 


164  THE    FORECASTLE. 

Bob  came,  and  conducted  Jerry  to  the  rati  in,  or 
ladder,  leading  up  the  mast,  —  and  told  him  to  "  go  up 
two  pair  of  stairs,  and  knock  at  the  left-hand  door." 
If  there  was  anything  funny  in  this,  Jerry  was  too  sick 
to  apprehend  it.  His  good-nature  had  long  since  given 
out ;  but  now  he  was  getting  positively  angry,  and  re- 
torted ujDon  his  tormentors  with  some  spirit.  But  this 
only  increased  their  sport  and  aggravated  his  misery. 
At  length,  however,  they  became  weary  of  their  ban- 
tering, and  one  of  the  sailors,  whom  they  called  Tom, 
led  Jerry  down  into  the  forecastle,  as  that  part  of  the 
vessel,  where  ths  sailors  sleep,  is  called.  This  apart- 
ment was  in  the  forward  part  of  the  brig,  immediately 
under  the  deck.  It  was  a  small  place,  barely  high 
enough  to  stand  erect  in,  and  with  no  hght  except  what 
entered  at  the  door-way.  Great  chests  were  strewed 
around  the  floor,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  walk  without 
running  into  them.  The  sides  of  the  forecastle  were 
fitted  up  with  three  tiers  of  what  looked  like  large 
shelves,  with  raised  edges.  These  were  the  bunks  in 
"which  the  sailors  slept.  Each  man  had  his  own  bunk, 
which  was  just  large  enough  to  lie  down  in.  Two  or 
three  of  these  bunks  were  unclaimed,  and  Tom   told 


FIRSTNIGHTATSEA  165 

Jerry  lie  could  take  his  choice  of  them.  But  Jeny 
had  come  on  board  without  the  slightest  preparation 
for  sea,  and  of  course  had  neither  mattress  nor  blank- 
ets, which  each  sailor  is  expected  to  provide  for  him^ 
self.  "What  was  he  to  do  in  this  emergency  ?  Luckil) 
for  him,  Tom  happened  to  have  some  spare  bed 
clothing  in  his  chest ;  and  as  he  rather  pitied  Jerry,  h# 
offered  to  let  him  use  it  until  he  should  have  an  op- 
portunity to  furnish  himself  with  an  outfit.  Jerry 
gladly  accepted  the  offer,  and  taking  off  a  portion  of 
his  clothing,  crawled  into  this  narrow,  box-like  resting- 
place. 

Our  young  sailor  did  not  enjoy  a  very  sound  sleep, 
on  his  first  night  at  sea.  The  motion  of  the  vessel,  the 
creaking  and  straining  of  the  rigging,  the  noise  of  the 
water  dashing  against  the  bows,  the  dolorous  sighing 
of  the  wind  through  the  blocks  and  ropes,  the  loud, 
sharp-spoken  orders  on  deck,  and  the  frequent  passing 
of  the  seamen  to  and  from  the  forecastle,  together  with 
his  sea-sickness,  allowed  him  but  little  repose.  Nof 
did  he  quite  fancy  the  atmosphere  of  the  forecastle, 
,  which  became  close  and  stifled  before  morning,  and  was 
flavored  with  various  odors,  the   most   prominent  of 


I OG  SCRUBBING     DECKS. 

w.^jj[ch  seemed  to  be  tar,  bilge-water,  and  (obacca 
However,  he  made  out  to  catch  a  few  sliort  naps,  from 
r>ne  of  which,  about  dayhght,  he  was  aroused  by  a 
i^earty  shake,  and  ordered  on  deck.  It  at  first  seemed 
k)  him  that  he  had  not  strength  sufficient  to  arise,  but 
he  managed  to  get  upon  his  feet,  and  staggered  up  on 
-^eck,  where  the  mate  at  once  set  him  to  work,  washing 
down  the  decks.  Weak  and  sick  as  he  was,  he  worked 
at  the  pump  awhile,  the  cold  water  in  the  meantime 
running  in  streams  about  his  feet,  his  shoes  oifering  but 
little  resistance  to  the  flood.  Then  he  was  obliged  to 
kneel  down  and  scrub  the  deck  with  small  stones,  called 
by  the  sailors,  "  holy-stones,"  and  used  at  sea  for  clean- 
ing the  decks  of  vessels.  This  laborious  employment 
continued  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  whenever  Jerry 
attempted  to  relax  his  efforts  in  the  slightest  degree, he 
would  hear  the  stern  voice  of  the  mate :  — 

"  Bear  a  hand  there,  sir,  —  no  skulking  here  !  ** 
On  one  occasion,  this  admonition  was  enforced  by  a 
smart  stroke  of  a  rope's-end  laid  over  his  shoulders, 
Jerry  began  to  regard  the  mate  as  a  monster ;  and,  in- 
deed, he  looked  upon  the  officers  and  men,  generally,  < 
as  littl '  better  than  the  pirate-  of  whom  he  had  read 


r>  n  i:  A  K  F  .^  T .  1 G7 

in.  some  of  his  juvenile  books.  But  these  men  were 
no^  so  bad  as  he  imagined.  It  is  stern,  rough  discipline 
tliat  makes  the  hardy  sailor ;  and  Jerry's  initiation  was 
no  more  severe  than  that  of  most  boys  who  go  to  eca 
*  before  the  mast." 

After  the  deck  had  been  holy-stoned,  Jerry  made  hia 
first  meal  at  sea,  —  he  having  been  too  sick  hitherto  to 
eat  anything.  His  breakfast  consisted  of  hard  ship- 
bread,  cold  salt  junk,  or  beef,  and  rye  coffee,  without 
milk.  He  ate  but  little,  for  the  fare  was  not  very 
tempting,  and  his  stomach  had  not  yet  got  accustomed 
to  the  ups  and  downs,  the  pitchings,  and  tossir.g^,  and 
reelings,  of  a  life  at  sea.  He  was  kept  busily  employed, 
most  of  the  day,  in  doing  various  little  chores  about  the 
vessel ;  for  being  the  youngest,  he  was  obliged  to  run 
at  everybody's  call  He  learned  from  one  of  the  sail- 
ors, during  the  day,  that  the  brig  was  bound  for  Val- 
paraiso ;  but  this  did  not  give  him  a  very  definite  idea 
of  his  destination,  —  for  so  sadly  had  he  neglected  his 
geography  at  school,  that  he  could  not  tell  in  what 
quarter  of  the  globe  Valparaiso  was  situated,  or 
whether  it  was  a  week's,  or  month's,  or  six  months'  sail 


168  ^    C  A  L  M  . 

from  Boston.    He  also  discovered  that  the  name  of  tho 
brig  was  "  The  Susan." 

Towards  the  evening  of  the  second  day  out,  the 
weather  grew  milder  and  the  sea  more  calm.  The 
brig,  wliich  had  dashed  through  the  water  as  if  on  a 
race,  from  the  moment  they  got  under  headway,  now 
began  to  slacken  her  speed,  —  and  one  of  the  old  sail- 
ors predicted  an  "  Irishman's  hurricane,"  as  a  calm  ia 
sometimes  humorously  called.  The  motion  of  the  ves- 
sel was  much  less  perceptible,  and  Jerry  began  to  get 
over  his  sea-sickness.  He  now  took  some  interest  in 
the  strange  scenes  spread  out  before  him :  the  level 
ocean  stretching  away  in  every  direction,  until  it  appa- 
rently touched  the  sky ;  no  hill  bounding  the  horizon, 
and  not  a  speck  of  land  to  be  seen.  But  one  other 
vessel  was  in  sight,  and  that  was  so  far  off  that  only 
the  white  sails  could  be  discerned,  the  hull  being  hid- 
den .from  sight  by  the  roundness  of  the  earth.  Dol- 
phins and  porpoises  were  sporting  round  the  brig  in  a 
very  amusing  manner,  —  now  darting  entirely  out  of 
water,  and  now  plunging  to  the  bottom,  or  scudding 
along  very  swiftly  near  the  surface.     Occasionally,  a 


STORMY     PETRELS.  160 

small  bird  was  seen  flitting  past  the  vessel,  or  skimming 
along  upon  the  water,  in  its  wake.     At  first,  Jerry  took 
them  to  be  swallows,  but  he  soon  learned  from  Tom, 
that  they  were  stormy  petrels,  or,  as  the  sailors  call 
them,  Mother  Carey's  Chickens.     The  sailors  regard 
these  birds  with  much  superstitious  fear,  because  they 
appear  in  greatest  numbers  just  before  a  storm,  and 
are  besides  very  singular  in  their  habits ;  but  the  pe- 
trels are  really  very  inoffensive  birds,  and  have  no  more 
to  do  with  getting  up  a  tempest  than  our  ducks,  geese, 
swallows,  snow-birds,  and  other  land  birds,  which  are 
uncommonly  noisy  and  busy  just  before  a  storra.    Tom, 
however,  like  most  sailors,  believed  the  traditions  con- 
cerning the  petrel,  and  when  he  told  Jerry  they  were 
messengers  of  the  evil  one,  they  lost  none  of  their  in 
terest  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  sailor.     At  night,  while 
stowed  away  in  his  little  bunk,  sound  asleep,  they  ap- 
peared to  him  in  countless  flocks,  and  he  dreamed  that 
they  settled  around  him  in  such  vast  numbers,  that  he 
had  to  struggle  desperately  to  avoid  being  suffocated 
by  them. 

Thus  passed  Jerry's  first  two  days  at  sea.      You 
vs  nuld  hardly  have  patience  to  follow  him  through  all 

15 


170  ROUTINE     OF    WORK. 

tho  long  voyage  ;  nor  is  it  necessary  that  you  should, 
for  the  experience  of  one  day  was  much  hke  that  of 
another.  He  found  going  to  sea  a  very  different 
thing  from  what  he  expected.  To  be  sure,  there  were 
at  first  some  pleasant  novelties  about  it,  but  these  wore 
away  after  a  while.  This  was  not  the  case,  however, 
with  the  toils  and  hardships,  —  which  only  grew  more 
distasteful  the  longer  they  were  continued.  The  ro- 
mantic, free-and-easy  life  of  the  sailor,  which  he  had 
pictured  in  imagination,  he  found  to  be  in  reality  a  life 
of  severe  labor,  drudgery,  exposure,  and  deprivation. 
There  were  few  idle  moments  for  him,  even  in  the  most 
delightful  weather.  At  daylight,  each  morning,  rain 
or  shine,  he  must  scrub  the  decks,  and  clean  out  the 
pig-pen.  Next,  perhaps,  he  would  be  ordered  to  assist 
in  shifting  sails,  and  would  be  obliged  to  haul  rough 
ropes  until  his  hands  were  sore,  and  his  back  felt  ready 
to  break  ;  then,  for  an  hour  or  two,  he  would  be  kept 
hard  at  work  scraping  and  oiling  the  masts  and  yards, 
—  or  be  sent  aloft  with  a  bucket  of  tar  and  gr^'a^e, 
railed  slush,  and,  hanging  in  mid-air,  be  compelled  tg 
dip  his  hand  into  the  nasty  mixture,  and  rub  down 
pome  portion  of  the  rigging  or  mast.     He  also  had  hia 


IRON    DISCIPLINE.  171 

own  washing  and  mending  to  do ;  and  when  there  was 
nothing  else  to  employ  his  time,  he  must  pick  oakum, 
or  make  spun-yarn  and  sennit.  Even  at  night,  he 
could  not  claim  exemption  from  toil,  —  but  was  liable 
at  any  hour  to  be  turned  out  by  the  shrill  cry  of  "  All 
hands,  ahoy  ! "  to  face  rain  or  snow,  or  to  feel  his  way 
aloft  in  a  gale  of  wind,  and  in  pitch-darkness ! 

There  was  one  thing,  however,  that  Jerry,  at  first 
felt  more  than  even  the  hard  work  and  poor  fare  of  hia 
new  calling ;  this  was,  the  iron  discipline  to  which  he 
fomid  himself  subjected.  He  had  never  been  accus- 
tomed to  obey  any  one,  at  home ;  but  here,  it  was 
prompt,  instant  obedience,  or  a  blovv.  This  deep- 
rooted  habit  of  disobedience,  together  with  his  settled 
habit  of  laziness,  made  his  "  breaking  in"  at  sea  much 
more  painful  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been.  One 
morning  he  did  not  instantly  obey  the  summons  when 
called  up,  and,  without  intending  it,  dropped  asleep 
again  ;  a  moment  afterwards  he  found  himself  sprawl- 
ing  among  the  chests  in  the  forecastle,  every  bone  in 
his  body  aching  as  though  it  had  been  twitched  out  of  its 
place.  The  captain,  with  one  jerk,  had  brought  him 
from  his  bunk  to  the  floor,  and  accompanied  the  act 


172  A    NAP    AT    THE    WATCH. 

■with  an  imprecation  on  his  eyes,  for  not  turning  out 
when  called.  Jerry  had  to  take  his  turn  in  watching 
on  deck,  at  night.  One  night  he  was  greatly  fatigued, 
and  sitting  do^\^l  on  the  boom  he  fell  asleep  with  his 
head  in  his  lap.  The  second  mate  happened  to  be  on 
deck,  and  seeing  the  situation  of  Jerry,  he  seized  the 
rope's-end,  and  approaching  him  stealthily,  brought  it 
down  with  all  his  strength  upon  the  back  and  shoulders 
of  the  boy.  Jerry,  in  his  fright,  came  near  leaping 
overboard,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  again  took 
a  nap  at  the  watch.  At  work,  too,  a  kick,  or  cuff,  or  a 
bit  of  rope  was  always  handy,  if  there  was  any  inclina- 
tion to  skulk.  "  Hurrah,  there !  bear  a  hand  !  heave 
along !  heave  along ! "  was  constantly  sounding  in  his 
ears,  —  a  system  of  driving  which  he  found  anything 
but  agreeable. 

Jerry  also  added  unnecessarily  to  the  bitterness  of 
his  lot,  during  the  first  few  weeks  of  the  voyage,  by 
his  surly,  insolent  manners  towards  the  sailors.  Being 
treated  as  inferiors  themselves  by  their  officers,  sailors 
have  no  opportunity  to  play  the  superior  except  to- 
wards the  boys  on  ship-board,  and  they  are  very  apt  tc 
make  the  most  of  this  opportunity.     It  is  best  for  the 


BAD    ASSOCIATES.  173 

boy  to  submit  patiently  and  good-naturedly  to  this 
petty  tyranny ;  for,  if  he  is  saucy  or  surly,  they  show 
him  no  mercy.  Jerry  soon  learned  this,  from  his  own 
experience.  He  at  first  bore  the  treatment  of  tho 
crew  with  much  ill-grace ;  but  he  was*  soon  cured  of 
this  fault,  and  learned  to  be  civil  and  obliging  towardi 
them. 

In  addition  to  all  these  troubles  and  hardships,  Jerry 
found  himself  thrown  into  intimate  companionship 
with  men,  some  of  whom  were  not  only  shockingly 
profane  and  disgustingly  indecent,  in  their  language, 
but  even  boasted  of  the  immorality  of  their  lives.  But 
these  evil  influences,  though  they  startled  Jerry  a  little, 
at  first,  were  not  the  things  that  troubled  him ;  —  and 
yet,  with  his  unformed  habits  and  principles,  they  were 
a  thousand  times  worse  for  him  than  all  the  stern  hard- 
fiKifs  of  the  sea. 


15» 


CHAPTER  Xm. 


MARY. 


TERRY  was  missed  at  home;  —  to  be  sure,  his  do- 
parture  was  not  felt  so  sensibly  as  it  would  have 
been,  had  he  acted  the  part  of  a  dutiful  son  and  an 
affectionats  brother.  Still,  all  mourned  his  sudden  dis- 
appearance ;  especially,  as  they  knew  not  what  had  be- 
come of  him.  For  a  while,  Mrs.  Preston  looked  up  tlie 
road,  many  times  every  day,  to  see  if  she  could  discern 
anything  of  the  runaway,  for  she  had  strong  expecta- 
tions that  he  would  return.  But  he  did  not  come,  nor 
were  any  tidin^^s  received  from  him.  In  her  distress 
and  anxiety  on  his  account,  she  forgot  all  his  bad  con- 
duct, and  only  lemembered  that  he  was  her  son,  —  her 
only  son.  Little  Mary,  too,  was  much  troubled  at  tho 
loss  of  her  brother.     She  did  not  fully  comprehend  the 

* 

occasion  of  his  'absence,  and  as  little  was  said  in  her 
presence  about  it,  she  somehow  got  tlie  notion  into  her 


A    LETTER.  175 

head  that  Jerry  had  been  seized  and  carried  off  by  cer- 
tain wicked  people  whom  she  called  "  bugaboos." 
"  Mother,''  she  would  say,  "  when  Jerry  gets  to  be  i> 
great-big  man,  wont  he  get  away  from  the  bugaboos, 
and  come  back  again  ?  "  And  then  her  mother  would 
look  sad,  and  reply,  "  I  hope  so,  my  dear." 

About  a  fortnight  after  Jerry's  dej^arture,  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton received  a  letter  from  her  husband's  brother  in 
Boston.  She  opened  it  with  mingled  hope  and  trem- 
bling, for  it  was  in  reply  to  one  she  had  addressed  him, 
the  day  after  Jerry  left  home.  But  it  gave  her  no  in 
formation  in  regard  to  his  whereabouts.  Jerry's  uncle 
simply  stated  that  he  had  been  absent  from  home,  and  did 
not  get  her  letter  till  a  few  days  previous  ;  that  he  had 
made  inquiries,  but  could  learn  nothing  of  Jerry  ;  and 
that  he  would  be  on  the  look-out  for  him,  and  give  her 
immediate  information  should  he  hear  anything  con- 
cerning the  runaway.  She  laid  the  letter  down  with  a 
sigh ;  and  that  evening  she  wrote  to  her  husband,  in- 
forming him  of  the  situation  of  affairs,  —  for  she  had 
delayed  doing  so  until  now,  in  hope  of  hearing  what 
had  become  of  Jerry.  Being  at  work  in  the  woods, 
far  away  from   any  post-office,  Mr.  Preston  did  not 


176  THE     SNOW     MAN. 

receive  this  letter  until  it  had  got  to  be  quite  an  old 
affair,  and  so  he  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  return 
home,  to  look  after  his  son. 

Clinton  continued  to  be  a  frequent  visiter  at  Mi's, 
Preston's,  and  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  family, 
•^ther  than  a  stranger.  When  riding  down  to  the 
Cross  Roads,  he  always  stopped  to  inquire  if  they  had 
any  errands  to  be  done  at  the  store ;  and  often,  when 
going  back  and  forth,  he  would  drop  in  a  few  moments, 
to  chat  with  the  children,  or  join  in  their  sports. 
There  was  in  the  yard  a  great  image  of  snow,  twice  as 
large  as  a  man,  which  Clinton  had  made  to  amuse  little 
Mary.  The  frequent  thawings  and  freezings  to  which 
this  snow  giant  was  subjected,  gave  him  a  smooth, 
thick  coating  of  ice,  so  that  a  snow  ball  made  no  im- 
pression upon  him.  This,  Clinton  said,  was  his  coat 
of  mail.  By  causing  water  to  drop  down  its  chin, 
when  it  was  freezing  cold,  Clinton  made  a  beard  of 
icicles  for  the  image,  which  gave  it  a  very  grotesque 
look.  One  morning,  after  a  thaw,  Mary  was  highly 
delighted  with  a  discovery  she  made  of  a  long  icicle 
hanging  from  the  nose  of  the  "  old  man,"  as  she  called 
him.     A  fe\^  days  after  there  was  a  heay  fall  of  moisl 


HIS     r  O  RTR AIT. 


177 


snow,  which  swelled  the  image  to  gigantic  proportions, 

the  outline  of  the  fissure  beinf^  still 

preserved;  but  soon  it  tumbled  to 

pieces  of  its  own  weight,  and  only- 
heap  of  hardened  snow  and  ice  ^mmm:,'M, 

remained  to  tell  its  storj. 
Clinton  was  a 

favorite  with  the     \f"a  j^ 

family     and    his  n^;!)V^*=yii 

visits  ^ave  them  |^^^^|| 

much     pleasure  ;  W  h^' \  \  ''-^i  LlSfi 

yet  Mrs.  Preston  __|||f^^^|^^^| 

could  not  look  up-  ^^S 


on  him  without  a 
feeling  of  sadness,  for  his  presence  always  reminded 
her  of  her  own  son  —  the  playmate  from  infancy  of 
Clinton.  Nor  could  she  help  contrasting  their  char- 
acters and  prospects.  She  thought  what  a  difference 
a  few  years  had  made,  in  the  two  boys ;  and  then  she 
wondered  whether  this  difference  was  to  go  on,  ever 
widening,  to  the  end  of  their  lives. 

Thus  week  after  week  passed  away,  and  the  family 
were  beginning  to   recover   from  the  melancholy  oo 


178  MARY'S     SICKNESS. 

casioned  by  Jerry's  flight  from  home,  when  a  new  and 
unwelcome  guest  entered  the  house.  This  guest  was 
sickness,  and  Mary  was  its  victim.  She  grew  ill  so 
alarmingly  fast,  from  the  hour  of  her  attack,  that 
James  was  soon  despatched  for  the  doctor.  When 
this  functionary  arrived,  he  felt  of  Mary's  pulse  and 
^  temples,  looked  at  her  tongue,  and  made  some  inqui- 
ries of  her  mother  in  relation  to  her  symptoms.  He 
then  pronounced  her  to  be  in  a  fever,  but  expressed 
some  hope  of  being  able  to  throw  it  off.  Opening  the 
little  leathern  trunk,  which  he  always  carried  with  him 
in  his  professional  visits,  he  took  from  it  several  kinds 
of  medicines,  and  gave  them  to  Mary's  mother,  with 
directions  how  to  administer  them.  But  Mary  con- 
tinued to  grow  worse  and  worse,  in  spite  of  the  good 
doctor's  medicine.  She  tossed  about  on  her  little  bed, 
moaning  piteously,  and  complaining  continually  of  the 
dreadful  pain  in  her  head.  Night  came,  and  she  could 
not  sleep,  although  the  lamp  in  the  room  was  shaded, 
and  her  mother  moved  noiselessly  about  in  her  gentle 
ministries  to  the  sick  one.  Every  little  while  she 
would  call  for  drink,  for  she  said  she  was  burning  up 
with  the  heat ;  but  she  ate  nothing. 


STRANGE     TALK.  179 

•  The  doctor  called  the  next  day,  and  after  the  usual 
examination,  he  left  some  more  medicine,  and  departed 
But  his  little  patient  grew  no  better.  And  so  daily  he 
repeated  his  visits,  and  each  time  remained  longer,  and 
looked  more  anxious ;  but  his  skill  seemed  to  be  of 
little  avail.  At  length  one  morning,  as  Emily  and 
Harriet  were  sitting  at  the  bed-side  of  the  sufferer, 
while  their  mother  was  necessarily  absent,  Mary  awoke 
from  a  short,  troubled  sleep,  and,  with  a  wild,  unnatural 
look,  began  to  talk  very  fast  and  very  singularly  about 
a  great  many  different  things. 

"  There  's  my  old  snow  man,"  she  said,  pointing  to  a 
bed-post  on  w^hich  some  light-colored  clothing  was 
hanging ;  "  old  man,  old  man,  old  man,  do  you  know 
who  made  you  ?  I  know  who  it  was  —  'twas  Clinty. 
O  mother,  see  that !  see  that !  is  n't  it  beautiful !  Now 
it 's  gone,  and  I  sha  n't  see-  it  again.  Yes  I  will  too. 
There  it  goes  —  buz-z-z-z-z  —  do  n't  you  sting  me, 
you  naughty  bee  —  I  '11  tell  my  mother  if  you  do. 
See .  see  !  see !  there  he  comes  —  that 's  Jerry  —  no 
it  aint  —  yes  it  is  too  —  I  tell  you  it  is  Jerry  —  do  n*t 
you  see  him  ?  0,  how  glad  I  am  he  's  got  away  from 
the  bugaboos  !     Look !  look  quick !  that 's  him  —  there 


1^  DELIKIUM. 

it  goes  —  up  there  —  do  n't  you  see  it  way  up  there 
going  round  and  round?  By-low  baby,  —  by-low 
baby,"  she  continued,  twisting  the  bedclothes  into 
something  that  seemed  to  her  a  doll ;  and  then  she 
repeated  a  verse  of  one  of  her  little  songs :  — 

"  Dance,  little  baby,  dance  up  high ; 
Never  mind,  baby,  mother  is  by ; 
Crow  and  caper,  caper  and  crow, 
There,  little  baby,  there  you  go." 

Thus  she  continued  to  talk,  her  mind  flying  from  one 
thing  to  another  in  a  most  singular  manner.  Her  sis- 
ters spoke  to  her,  but  she  took  no  notice  of  them ;  and 
Harriet  ran  down  to  her  mother,  and  bursting  into 
tears,  cried :  — 

"  O,  mother,  do  come  up  stairs  —  Mary's  gone  crazy, 
and  is  talking  about  ever^^thing ! " 

The  poor  little  sufferer  continued  in  a  delirious  state 
most  of  the  day,  though  occasionally,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments at  a  time,  reason  would  seem  to  resume  its  sway 
The  ioctdr  looked  more  grave  than  ever,  and  wlieu 
jMis.  Preston  followed  him  into  the  entry,  and  en- 
treated him  to  tell  her  exactly  what  he  thought  of  tho 
case,  he  rt'.plied  :  — 


RETURN     OF     REASON.  181 

"  I  think  she  is  a  very  sick  child,  but  as  the  fever 
has  not  reached  the  turning-point,  it  is  impossible  to 
tell  how  it  will  result.  I  do  not  despair  of  saving  her, 
however,  for  I  have  seen  more  than  one  patient  live 
through  as  violent  an  attack  as  this  appears  to  be." 

Clinton  called  daily  at  the  house,  to  inquire  after 
Mary,  but  as  it  was  important  to  keep  her  as  quiet  as 
possible,  he  did  not  go  into  the  sick  chamber.  His 
mother,  however,  came  over  every  day,  and  sometimes 
remained  all  night,  greatly  assisting  Mrs.  Preston  in 
taking  care  of  the  sick  one.  Mary's  delirium  con- 
tinued with  little  interruption  for  two  or  three  days. 
"When  she  came  out  of  this  state,  she  cast  a  recog- 
nizing look  at  her  mother  and  sisters,  who  were 
seated  in  the  room,  and  then,  in  a  low  voice,  in- 
quired :  — 

"  Mother,  where  is  Jerry  ?'* 

"  Jerry  is  not  here,  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Preston ; 
**  he  has  not  yet  got  back." 

"  Where  has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  know  where  he  is  —  he  went  away  before 
you   was  taken  sick,  but  we   hope  he  will  be  back 


soon." 


16 


]82  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

"  But  1  saw  liim  here  yesterday,  mother,"  continued 
Mary,  who  had  a  confused  remembrance  of  some  of 
the  impressions  of  her  delirium.  ^ 

*'  No,  darling,  you  are  mistaken,  you  dreamed  that 
you  saw  him  —  that  was  all." 

Mary  looked  disappointed ;  and  as  her  recollection 
of  Jerry's  disappearance  returned,  she  added  mourn- 
fully:— 

"  Then  I  sha  n't  see  Jerry  again  before  I  die  —  nor 
father  either." 

"  O,  yes  you  will,"  quickly  replied  her  mother, 
startled  at  these  words  ;  "  you  will  soon  get  well,  I  hope, 
and  father  will  be  home,  before  many  weeks,  and  Jerry, 
too,  perhaps." 

Mary  sadly  shook  her  head,  but  made  no  reply. 
That  night  she  slept  a  few  hours,  but  in  the  morning 
it  was  evident  that  she  was  rapidly  failing.  Calling 
her  mother  to  the  bed-side,  she  said,  with  a  beautiful 
smile  upon  her  face :  — 

"  Dear  mother,  I  am  going  to-day  —  I  have  seen 
the  angel  that  is  to  carry  me  over  the  river.  O,  I 
wish  I  could  tell  you  all  about  it,  but  I  can't  talk  much 
now.     I  saw  a  beautiful  country  —  there  was  no  snow 


THE     DREAM.  183 

there,  but  the  grass  was  all  grel^n,  and  there  were  flowers 
of  every  kind.  There  was  a  great  temple,  too,  as  high 
as  the  clouds,  and  it  dazzled  my  eyes  to  look  at  it,  it 
glittered  so  in  the  sun.  And  I  saw  thousands  of  little 
children,  dressed  in  white,  and  the  Saviour  gathered 
them  around  him,  and  kissed  them,  and  then  they  all 
jsang,  and  looked  so  happy,  and  he  looked  so  kind.  But 
there  was  a  dark,  ugly  river  between  me  and  them, 
and  while  I  was  thinking  how  I  should  like  to  get 
across,  a  tall,  beautiful  angel  came  up  to  me,  and  asked 
me  if  I  would  not  like  to  become  one  of  the  Saviour's 
little  lambs.  I  told  him  I  should,  but  1  was  afraid  of 
the  terrible  river.  Then  he  kissed  me,  and  told  me 
not  to  be  afraid,  for  he  would  come  for  me  in  a  few 
liours,  and  carry  me  over ;  and  he  said  I  never  should 
be  sick  any  more,  nor  go  astray.  And  I  asked  if  he 
would  not  take  you  too,  and  father,  and  Jerry,  and 
Emily,  and  Harriet,  but  he  said*  —  ^Not  yet.'  And 
wliile  the  ano;el  was  talking  to  me,  the  Saviour  looked 
(o\^  ai  da  us,  and  stretched  out  his  arms ;  and  so  I  am 
sure  that  I  shall  go  to  heaven  to-day." 

Mrs.  Preston  listened  to  this  recital  in   tears,  and 
ivas  too  much  overpowered  with  her  emotions  to  make 


184  THE     LAST     SCENE. 

any  reply.  It  was  but  too  evident  that  Mary*  pre* 
sentiment  of  her  approaching  death  was  not  unhkely 
to  prove  true.  She  continued  to  sink  through  the  day. 
The  doctor  came  once  more,  but  he  told  the  weeping 
mother  he  could  do  nothing  more  for  the  sufferer.  In 
the  afternoon,  Mary  desired  that  all  the  members  of 
the  family  should  be  gathered  around  her.  In  a  few 
simple,  childish  words,  she  bade  each  a  farewell,  and 
looked  the  affection  which  she  could  not  express.  And 
then,  remembering  the  absent  ones,  she  left  messages 
of  love  Tor  her  father  and  Jerry.  She  soon  after  sank 
into  a  stupor,  and  apparently  did  not  recognize  her 
mother  and  sisters,  who  sat  silently  and  tearfully  watch- 
ing her  breathing,  as  each  minute  it  became  shorter  and 
more  labored.  Just  as  the  last  spark  of  life  was  expiring, 
a  heavenly  smile  beamed  upon  her  pure  young  face, 
and  the  exclamation,  "  There  he  is !  —  the  angel  is 
coming ! "  faintly  trembled  upon  her  lips.  A  moment 
after,  little  Mary  was  gathered  into  the  fold  of  the 
Good  Shepherd,  in  heaven. 

A  little  grave  was  dug  in  the  frozen  earth,  in  one 
comer  of  the  garden,  and  there  the  dust  of  Mary  now 
Bleeps,  in  hope  of  a  resurrection.     But  it  is  only   the 


HEAVEN.  185 

body  tliat  lies  there.  She  went  with  the  good  angel, 
we  trust,  to  become  one  of  the  lambs  in  the  Saviour's 
flock. 

"  There  past  are  death  and  all  its  woes, 
There  beauty's  stream  for  ever  flows, 
And  pleasure's  day  no  sunset  knowi." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE     FORESTS. 


A/I  iRCH  had  come  —  the  month  which  is  usually 
considered  the  beginning  of  spring,  though  in  the 
part  of  the  country  where  Clinton  resided  it  seemed 
more  like  the  last  month  of  winter.  The  winter  school 
had  closed,  and  as  it  was  too  early  to  commence  labors 
on  the  farm,  the  scholars  were  enjoying  a  long  holiday. 
There  was  little  for  Clinton  to  do,  at  home,  and  even 
his  father  was  at  leisure  much  of  the  time,  having 
chopped  and  hauled  his  year's  supply  of  wood,  cleaned 
and  repaired  his  tools,  and  done  such  other  jobs  as  are 
usually  deferred  to  the  winter  season.  The  deport- 
ment of  Clinton,  since  his  frank  confession  of  the  er- 
rors into  which  Jerry  had  led  him,  had  been  unexcep- 
tionable, both  at  home  and  at  school.  He  seemed  like 
himself  again.  His  parents  began  to  feel  sorry  that 
they   had  deprived  him  of  his   promised  journey  to 


EXCURSION     PROPOSED.  187 

Boston,  although  he  had  never  once  spoken  of  the 
matter  from  the  daj  they  announced  their  intention.  In 
talking  over  the  subject  one  evening  after  the  children 
had  gone  to  bed,  they  concluded  to  make  up  for  Clinton's 
lisappointment,  in  part  at  least,  by  treating  him  to  an 
excursion  of  another  kind.  The  next  morning,  at  the 
breakfast  table,  Mr.  Davenport  introduced  the  matter 
by  saying :  — 

"  Clinton,  you  Ve  behaved  pretty  well,  for  some 
time  past,  and  as  I  believe  in  rewards  as  well  as  pun- 
ishments, I  am  going  to  propose  to  treat  you  to  a  little, 
excursion,  next  week.  Where  should  you  prefer  to 
go  —  to  Portland,  or  to  Bangor,  or  back  into  the  for- 
ests, among  the  loggers  ?  As  the  sleighing  is  now  ex- 
cellent, and  bids  fair  to  remain  so  for  a  week  or  two 
longer,  we  will  take  Fanny  —  or  rather  she  shall  take 
us ;  and  you  shall  decide  to  which  of  these  points  we 
shall  steer." 

*<  I  should  like  to  go  to  either  of  the  places,  first- 
rate,'  said  Clinton,  "  but  I  do  n't  know  as  I  have  any 
choice  about  them.  I  'U  leave  it  with  you  to  say  which 
BhaU  be  the  trip." 

"  No, '  resumed  his  father,  "  you  think  the  matter 


188  PUEPARATIONS. 

over  to-day,  and  perhaps  you  will  find  that  you  have 
some  preference." 

Clinton  did  so,  and  after  weighing  in  his  mind  the 
attractions  of  the  several  places,  he  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  had  rather  visit  a  logging  camp,  of 
which  he  had  heard  so  much,  than  to  go  to  either 
Portland  or  Bangor.  He  had  already  once  visited  the 
former  city,  and  the  other  had  no  special  interest  for 
him,  beyond  any  other  large  place.  So  he  infortned 
his  father  of  his  decision,  and  the  logging  camp  was 
determined  upon  as  the  object  of  their  journey. 

The  rest  of  the  week  was  spent  in  preparing  for 
and  talking  about  their  approaching  excursion.  Clin- 
ton  watched  the  weather  very  closely,  and  was  con- 
stantly on  the  look  out  for  a  storm;  but  no  storm 
came,  though  there  were  at  times  indications  of  foul 
weather,  which  somewhat  dampened  his  ardor.  Hia 
mother  cooked  a  large  amount  of  dough-nuts,  ginger 
cakes,  fried  apple  pies,  and  other  eatables  convenient 
for  a  journey ;  for  they  were  going  through  a  section  of 
the  country  which  was  little  settled,  ^nd  might  have  to 
depend  upon  themselves,  in  part  a<;  Vast,  for  their  pro- 
risions.     The  sleigh  was  cleaned    mi4   even  Far-ny 


THE     OUTFIT.  189 

reoei\ed  extra  care,  and  an  extra  allowance  of  fodder, 
in  consideration  of  the  long  jaunt  before  her. 

Monday  morning,  at  length,  came.  The  weather  was 
just  what  they  desired.  The  sun  shone  pleasantly,  ihe 
Air  was  mild,  and  the  sleighing,  —  which  had  not  been 
interrupted  for  a  day,  since  the  first  considerable  fall  of 
snow  in  December,  —  was  smooth  and  easy.  Mrs. 
Davenport  stowed  away  in  the  sleigh-box,  under  the 
seat,  an  ample  supply  of  provisions  for  the  journey ; 
and,  also,  a  quantity  of  extra  clothing,  to  be  used  in 
ease  they  should  need  a  change.  Nor  did  Mr.  Daven- 
port forget  to  provide  something  for  Fanny's  comfort 
on  the  way.  He  lashed  a  bag  of  grain  between  the 
dasher  and  the  front  of  the  sleigh,  and  inside  he  put  as 
much  hay  as  he  could  conveniently  carry,  tied  up  in 
wisps  of  a  convenient  size  for  bating  the  horse.  Some 
friction  matches,  an  umbrella,  a  rifle,  a  hatchet,  and 
two  good  buffalo  skins,  completed  their  outfit 

The  sun  was  hardly  half  an  hour  up,  when  Clinton 
and  his  father  bade  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Davenport  and 
Annie,  and  started  on  their  journey.  The  logging 
business  is  carried  on  most  extensively  around  the 
head  waters  of  the  great  rivers  in  the  northern  part  of 


190  THE    FORESTS. 

Maine.  These,  however,  were  too  far  distant,  and  the 
roads  to  them  too  little  travelled,  to  be  visited  with 
much  pleasure  or  even  safety,  at  this  season  of  the 
year.  The  camp  which  Mr.  Davenport  intended  to 
visit  was  situated  on  one  of  the  tributaries  of  the  Ken- 
nebec river,  about  forty  miles  from  Brookdale.  Here 
they  could  obtain  quite  as  correct  an  idea  of  the 
loggers'  life  as  they  could  by  going  farther  north, 
though  the  business  was  carried  on  upon  a  smaller 
scale  at  this  place. 

Fanny  trotted  off  at  a  brisk  pace,  and  soon  the 
travellers  found  themselves  upon  a  road  where  no 
houses  nor  cultivated  laud  could  be  seen,  —  but  tall  for- 
est trees  rose  on  each  side,  and  spread  away  in  the 
distance  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 

"  What  lots  of  woods,"  said  Clinton ;  "I  do  n't  see 
why  they  go  so  far  after  logs,  when  they  are  so  plenty 
around  here." 

"  I  suppose  one  reason  is,"  said  his  father,  "  that 
these  forests  are  not  very  convenient  to  a  stream,  so 
thai  the  logs  could  not  be  easily  floated  down  to  the 
saw-mills.  Perhaps,  too,  the  land  belongs  to  somebody 
who  thinks  the  lumber  will  be  more  valuable  by  and  by 


SCARCITY    OF    WOOD.  191 

than  it  is  now.  There  are  many  large  tracts  of  wood 
scattered  over  the  vState,  even  in  parts  which  have  been 
settled  for  years." 

"'I  should  think  it  would  take  a  great  many  ages  to 
use  up  all  the  wood  there  is  in  this  State,"  continued 
Clinton. 

"I  hope  it  will  be  a  great  while,"  remarked  IVlr. 
Davenport,  "  before  we  are  as  badly  off  for  wood  as 
they  are  in  some  parts  of  the  old  world.  What  would 
you  think  of  buying  fire-wood  by  the  pound  ?  Yet  this 
is  the  way  it  is  sold  in  Paris  and  many  other  European 
cities.  A  man  who  had  travelled  a  great  deal,  once 
told  me  that  he  had  known  wood  to  sell  at  the  rate  ol 
eighty-five  dollars  a  cord,  in  Naples.  In  France,  and 
Spain,  too,  wood  is  very  scarce,  and  as  but  little  coal  is 
used,  the  people  learn  to  be  very  economical  in  the  use 
of  fuel.  He  says  it  would  cost  a  fortune  for  a  man 
to  keep  up  such  fires  in  his  house,  in  Paris,  as  we  do 
here.  The  trimmings  of  fruit  trees  and  grape  vines,  and 
everything  that  will  burn,  is  carefully  saved.  Lumber, 
for  building  purposes,  is  also  much  dearer  than  it  is 
here,  and  is  much  less  used  than  with  us.  But  some 
psiople  thirJs  the  time  will  come  when  \yood  and  lum- 


192  GREAT    STUMPS. 

ber  will  be  as  dear  here  as  tbey  are  now  in  Eu- 
rope.'* 

Patches  of  fenced  lands,  some  of  which  had  evidently 
been  cultivated,  now  began  to  appear,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  a  little  settlement  of  farm-houses  became  visi- 
ble; but  the  travellers  did  not  stop,  and  were  soon 
again  in  the  forests,  with  no  signs  of  civilization  around 
them  but  the  road  upon  which  they  travelled.  Most 
of  the  pine  trees  had  been  cut  down,  in  this  tract,  but 
a  few  lofty  and  noble  specimens  remained,  as  if  to  show 
what  had  been  there.  The  stumps  of  these  departed 
giants  of  the  forest  were  scattered  in  every  direction, 
and  some  of  them  were  of  great  size.  They  had  no 
measuring  tape,  but  ISlr.  Davenport,  after  carefully 
examining  one  of  these  stumps,  calculated  that  it 
measured  fully  seventeen  feet  in  circumference,  at  the 
^  cut."  There  was  a  pine  still  standing,  near  by,  which 
he  thouorht  would  measure  almost  as  much  as  this.  Its 
height  he  estimated  at  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet. 

But  though  there  were  few  white  pines  left,  there 
was  no  lack  of  trees.  Among  those  which  Clinton 
recognized,  was  a  small,  scraggy  species  of  pine ;  tho 
gtifl)  con'i-shaped  cedar ;    the  mountain  ash,  with    its 


A     TALK     ABOUT     TREES.  193 

clusters  of  bright  red  berries ;  the  noble  and  cleanly 
beech  ;  the  thrifty,  broad-headed  butternut ;  the  grace- 
ful birch,  with  its  silvery  trunk  ;  the  maple,  the  larch, 
tlie  spruce,  etc.  There  was  also  a  dense  growth  of 
smaller  trees  or  bushes,  among  which  he  found  the  ha- 
zel, filbert,  moose-wood,  alder,  bear-berry,  winter-green, 
and  other  familiar  shrubs.  The  conversation  turned 
upon  the  properties  and  uses  of  these  several  trees.  — 
for  Mr,  Davenport  always  improved  such  occasions  for 
giving  Clinton  useful  information  concerning  the  objects 
around  him..  He  told  him  what  an  excellent  substituttj 
beech  leaves  were  for  straw,  for  filling  beds  ;  and  how 
valuable  the  sugar-maples  will  one  day  be  considered, 
when  the  people  get  in  the  way  of  making  sugar  as  an 
article  of  export ;  and  how  the  Shakers  use  the  wood 
of  the  butternut  for  making  bowls,  and  sell  the  bark  to 
the  apothecaries  for  medicinal  purposes ;  and  how  fond 
the  partridge  is  of  the  little  red  bear-berries. 

"As  to  the  birches,  which  are  so  plenty  along  here, 
I  suppose  you  already  know  something  of  their  peculiar 
virtues,"  continued  Mr.  Davenport. 

"I  guess  a  few  of  the  boys  at  school  discovered  what 
they  are  good  for,  this  winter,"  replied  Clinton,  wiili  a 
laugh.  17 


194  VIRTUES     OF     BIB<'JH. 

"  Well,  I  made  the  same  discovery  myself,  when  ! 
went  to  school,"  added  Mr.  Davenport  "  The  maslei 
got  out  of  birch  rods,  one  day,  and  sent  me  off  to  cui 
some.  The  tree  whicn  we  usually  patronized  for  tliif 
purpose  was  near  by  a  pond  where  there  happened  to 
be  excellent  skating ;  and  as  my  skates  were  handy,  1 
having  hid  them  under  a  log  before  going  into  school, 
I  thought  I  would  take  a  turn  or  two  round  the  pond, 
after  cutting  the  twigs.  I  did  so ;  and  then  returned 
to  school,  with  half  a  dozen  long,  stout  rods.  As  the 
master  took  them,  he  said,  with  a  smile,  'Ah,  thesf 

• 

look  nice,  but  the  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the  eating 
so  I  will  just  test  them  a  little.'  I  laughed  at  his 
pleasantry,  and  turned  to  go  to  my  seat,  when  hd 
said,  '  Here,  sir,  come  back,  I  'm  in  earnest  —  I  want 
to  test  these  a  little  before  you  take  your  seat.'  And 
sure  enough,  he  did  test  one  of  the  longest  of  themj 
eo  that  I  carried  proofs  of  its  virtues  upon  my  legs  foi 
several  days  after.  '  There,'  said  he,  after  he  had 
satisfied  himself,  '  these  rods  will  do  very  well ;  now 
you  may  go  to  your  seat,  and  when  I  send  you  after 
the  next  lot,  do  rCt  you  stop  to  shate  on  the  pond!^  I 
afterwards  learned  that  he  grew  suspicious  of  my  long 


OIL     OFBIRCH.  19f 

absence,  and  sent  ^ut  a  boy  to  see  what  had  become 
of  me,  who  reported  to  him  that  I  was  skatmg.  Ever 
Binjce  that  day,  I  have  had  a  very  lively  recollection  of 
the  virtues  of  the  birch  tree." 

"  Master  Eaton  often  says  boys  are  subject  to  some 
complaints  that  have  to  be  doctored  on  the  botanical 
system  —  he  says  there  is  nothing  but  oil  of  birch  that 
will  save  them,"  remarked  Clinton. 

"  Speaking  of  the  oil  of  birch,"  said  Mr.  Davenport, 
"  did  you  know  that  it  is  valuable  for  tanning  leather, 
as  well  as  boys'  hides?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  n't  know  there  was  really  such  a 
thing  as  the  oil  of  birch,"  replied  Clinton.  "  I  thought 
people  used  the  words  only  in  fun." 

"  There  is  such  a  substance,  and  it  is  said  to  be  used 
in  tanning  hides,  and  currying  leather,  in  Russia. 
They  distil  it  from  the  outside  bark  of  the  tree.  Did 
you  never  notice  that  the  birch-bark  often  remains  en 
tire,  after  the  tree  to  which  it  belonged  has  gone  to 
decay?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  know  some  trees  back  of  our  house  that 
have  been  dead  ever  since  I  can  remember,  and  are  all 


196  THE     BIRCH     TREE. 

rotten  inside,  and  yet  the  bark  looks  as  though  it  was 
alive." 

"  That  is  because  this  oil  in  the  bark  preserves  it 
from  decay.  And  there  is  another  curious  thing  about 
this  tree  —  it  is  generally  the  first  to  spring  up  after  a 
forest  has  been  cut  down,  or  burned  over.  I  suppose 
most  of  these  birches  that  we  see  around  us,  have 
grown  up  since  the  pines  were  cut  down.  They  are 
not  at  all  particular  about  their  location,  but  will  man- 
age to  flourish  wherever  they  can  find  a  stanfling  place. 
They  seem  to  take  it  for  granted  that  a  birch  tree  is 
better  than  no  tree,  and  so  they  squeeze  in  and  fill  up 
the  spaces  in  the  forests,  and  settle  down  upon  all  un- 
appropriated tracts.  And  in  fact  they  are  not  to  be 
despised ;  for  they  grow  rapidly,  are  rather  pretty,  and 
are  not  only  useful  to  tanners  and  schooL-masters,  but 
their  branches  make  strong  withes,  when  green,  and 
(heir  wood  makes  good  fuel,  when  seasoned." 

"  Quite  a  catalogue  of  virtues,"  remarked  Clinton. 

"  Yes  —  and  here  we  are,  almost  at  Uncle  Tim% 
nearly  half  through  our  journey  '  added  Mr.  Daven* 
port. 


UNCLE     TIM.  197 

Mr.  Lewis,  or  "  Uncle  Tim,"  as  he  was  always  called^ 
was  an  old  pioneer,  who  settled  down  in  this  wilder- 
ness years  ago,  his  "clearing"  being  many  miles  dis- 
tant from  any  neighbor.  This  was  the  last  house  they 
would  meet,  on  the  road  to  the  camp,  and  as  Uncle 
Tim's  dwelling  was  a  sort  of  tavern,  at  which  all  trav- 
ellers over  the  road  were  accustomed  to  stop,  Mr. 
Davenport  had  determined  to  rest  Fanny  there  until 
the  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE      CLEARING. 


TTNCLE  TIM  was  Yery  glad  to  see  ]\Ii'.  Davenport 
and  Clinton,  as  he  always  was  to  see  travellers.  He 
called  Bill,  one  of  his  boys,  to  go  and  put  up  the  horse, 
while  he  led  the  strangers  into  the  house,  where  his  wife 
had  already  set  about  preparing  something  for  them  to 
eat,  for  it  was  past  noon,  and  the  family  had  just  finished 
their  dinner. 

Clinton  soon  slipped  outside,  to  take  a  look  at  the 
premises,  for  his  curiosity  was  much  excited  by  the 
novel  appearance  of  things.  The  clearing  was  very 
large,  and  not  a  native  tree  had  been  left  upon  it ;  but 
it  was  completely  surrounded  by  a  straight,  unbroken 
line  of  forest,  which  looked  like  a  perpendicular  wall 
The  land  consisted  of  gentle  slopes  and  valleys,  and 
was  divided  into  separate  fields,  by  fences  made  of 
stumps  and  log-;.     Nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  clearing 


THE     LOG     HOUSE 


19» 


stood  the  house  and  barn.  They  were  both  built  of 
spruce  logs,  placed  one  upon  another,  cob-house  fashion, 
the  chinks  between  them  being  filled  up  with  clay  and 
moss.     From  the  centre  of  the  house  rose  a  huge  stone 


caiiiiiioy.  The  windows  were  glazed  in  the  common 
macner.  As  Clinton  was  looking  around,  Uncle  Tim 
came  ouv  and  spoke  to  him :  — 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,   young  man  ?  '*  he  said 
''*  do  you  suppose  you  could  build  as  good  a  house  aa 
(his,  with  nothing  but  an  axe  ?" 


200  DINNER. 

"  I   guess  not,"  replied  Clinton  ;    "  but  you  did  n'l 
build  it  with  an  axe,  did  you?" 

"  I  did  n't  have  much  of  anything  else  to  work  with, 
I  assure  you,"  said  Uncle  Tim.  "  There  's  no  knowing 
what  you  can  do  with  an  axe,  until  you  set  out  and 
try.  But  come  in  —  I  guess  your  dinner's  about 
ready." 

Uncle  Tim  guessed  right.  The  table  was  covered 
with  tempting  food,  in  gi*eat  profusion,  and  Clinton 
and  his  father  sat  down  to  it  with  a  good  appetite. 

"  You  do  n't  starve  yourselves,  up  here  in  the 
woods,"  said  Mr.  Davenport,  glancing  at  the  heaping 
dishes. 

"  No,"  said  Uncle  Tim,  "  we  can  generally  find  some- 
thing to  eat ;  but  it 's  a  pity  you  did  n't  come  along 
a  little  sooner,  so  as  to  have  had  some  of  our  din- 


ner." 


But  the  travellers  did  not  pity  themselves,  if  Uncle 
Tim  did ;  for  with  the  fried  ham  and  eggs,  the  nice 
wheaten  bread,  the  delicious  milk,  the  sweet  cakes  and 
mountain  cranberry  sauce,  the  rich  cheese,  and  tea 
sweetened  with  molasses,  they  were  in  no  danger  of 
starving. 


MAKING    A     CLEARING.  201 

Afler  their  meal,  Clinton  renewed  his  examination 
of  the  house  ;  and  Uncle  Tim  seeing  he  was  interested 
in  it,  began  to  tell  him  how  he  built  it.     He  pitched 
upon  the  spot  about  twenty  years  before;  and  aftei 
securing  his  title,  he  took  his  axe  and  went  to  work 
cutting  down  trees.     The  first  trees  he  felled,  he  used 
in  building  a  "  camp,"  a  hut  made  of  logs  and  covered 
with  bark.     After  he  had  cleared  about  an  acre,  and 
lopped  off  the  limbs  of  the  fallen  trees,  he  set  them  on 
fire  in  the  fall.   The  logs,  which  remained  unconsumed, 
w^ere  afterwards  cut  into  lengths  of  ten  oi*twelve  feet, 
piled  together  in  heaps,  and  again  set  on  fire.     Thus 
he  had  burned  hundreds  of  cords  of  wood,  to  get  rid  of 
it,  which  would  have  sold  for  six  or  seven  dollars  a  cord, 
could  he  have  sent  it  to  Portland  or  Boston.     In  the 
spring  he  planted  his  corn  and  potatoes,  and  then  went 
to  work  again  with  his  axe  and  cleared  another  piece. 
By-and-by  he  began  to  feel  lonesome,  for  thus  far  he 
had  been  entirely  alone,  with  the  exception  of  a  couple 
of  trusty  dogs  ;   so  he  went  back  to   the   town  from 
which  he  came,  married  a  wife,  and  then  returned  to 
bis  home  in  the  forest.  After  a  while  their  family  began 


202  THE     TABLE 

to  increase,  and  so  they  built  a  larger  and  better  house^ 
—  the  one  in  which  they  were  now  sitting. 

This  was  the  substance  of  Uncle  Tim's  story,  although 
he  made  a  much  longer  one  of  it  than  I  have  dene  ; 
for  it  was  not  very  often  that  he  saw  a  stranger,  and 
when  he  did,  his  tongue  was  pretty  sure  to  enjoy  a 
holiday,  —  not  of  rest,  but  of  action. 

By  this  time,  Mrs.  Lewis  had  cleared  off  the  table, 
and  Clinton  was  not  a  little  astonished  to  see  it  sud- 
denly converted  into  a  rude  but  capacious  arm-chair  ! 
The  round *top  of  the  table  was  turned  up  against  the 
wall,  thus  forming  the  back  of  the  chair ;  and  the 
frame  which  supported  it,  became  the  arms.  The  ob- 
ject of  this  was  to  economize  space  as  well  as  furni- 
ture, —  for  in  log  houses  there  is  seldom  any  room  to 
waste  upon  useless  articles. 

There  were  five  rooms,  but  the  partitions,  instead  of 
being  of  plastering,  were  made  of  wood.  Clinton,  no- 
ticing this,  said :  — 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  built  this  house  with  an 
ixe ;  but  how  did  you  make  your  boards  for  the  dooi"^ 
*nd  partitions,  and  floors  ?  " 


MISTAKES     AND     DISCOVERIES.       203 

"  Boards  ?  Why,  bless  you,  there  is  n't  a  board  in 
(he  house.  These  things  are  splints,  not  boards.  I 
made  them  by  splitting  spruce  logs.  The  roof  is 
covered  with  them,  too,  and  I  'm  going  to  clapboard 
tlie  house  with  the  same  things  afore  next  winter." 

Clinton's  mistake  was  very  natural,  for  the  floor  and 
partitions  were  almost  as  smooth  and  straight  as 
though  made  of  sawed  and  planed  boards.  Clinton 
noticed  in  the  floor,  however,  a  great  number  of  small 
holes,  which  Uncle  Tim  told  him  were  made  by  the 
spikes  that  the  drivers  fix  upon  their  boots  to  prevent 
their  slipping  off  the  logs.  This  led  Chnton  to  another 
discovery.  The  river,  to  whose  head  waters  they  were 
going,  passed  through  Uncle  Tim's  clearing ;  but  as  it 
was  frozen  over,  and  the  ice  partially  covered  with 
snow,  Clinton  had  not  noticed  it  before.  It  was  down 
this  river  that  the  logs  and  their  iron-shod  drivers 
came,  and  the  latter  were  in  the  habit  of  stopping  at 
uncle  Tim's  for  supplies. 

Seeing  a  noble  looking  dog  asleep  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  Clinton  inquired  if  that  was  one  of  the  two 
that  came  with  him  when  he  first  settled  in  the  woods. 

"  No,"  said  Uncle  Tim,  "but  he's  a  son  of  theirs,  and 


204  BILL     AND     JIM. 

a  worthy  successor  he  is,  too,  —  aint  you,  Hunter  ? 
IJunter,  at  the  mention  of  liis  name,  started  from  his 
doze,  and  wagged  his  bushy  tail,  which  said  "  Yes,"  as 
plain  as  tail  could  speak.  "  He  considers  the  poultry 
under  his  charge,"  continued  Uncle  Tim,  "just  as  hia 
father  and  mother  did  afore  him,  and  he  wont  suffer  a 
hawk  or  any  big  bird  to  come  within  twenty  rods  of 
the  chickens.  He 's  great  on  Ingins,  too,  —  he  smells 
'em  a  mile  off,  and  barks  long  afore  they  're  in  sight.'* 

"  Do  you  have  many  Indians  about  here  ?  "  inquired 
Clinton. 

"  Not  many  ;  a  few  stragglers  come  along  once  in  a 
while.  Red-skins  aint  so  plenty  as  they  were  when  1 
first  came  here,  nor  half  so  saucy  either.  They  know 
it 's  their  fate  to  give  way  to  their  betters,  and  it  makes 
them  sort  of  humble  like.  * 

Clinton  now  went  out  to  the  barn,  where  he  found 
two  stout,  hearty  lads,  larger  than  himself,  giving  the 
cattle  their  suppers.  These  were  Uncle  Tim's  sons. 
"  Bill"  and  "  Jim"  were  the  only  names  by  which  he 
beard  them  called.  Their  faces  were  brown,  their 
hands  large  and  rough,  and  their  clothing  was  of  the 
coarsest  description ;  but  their  bodies  were  finely  de- 


THE    BARN.  205 

velopcd,  and,  like  their  father,  they  were  shrewd  and 
intelligent,  though  they  had  never  enjoyed  a  day*& 
schooling.  Clinton  took  hold  and  helped  them  about 
their  work,  and  soon  he  felt  very  well  acquainted  with 
them.  They  asked  him  a  great  many  questions  about 
Brookdale,  and  he,  in  return,  was  quite  as  inquisitive 
about  their  home.  He  was  astonished  to  learn,  as  he 
did,  in  the  course  of  the  conversation,  that  Bill,  the 
eldest  of  these  great,  broad-shouldered,  wide-chested, 
and  long-legged  boys,  was  only  about  a  year  older  than 
himself,  while  Jim  was  actually  his  junior  by  three 
months.  Hard  work,  constant  exposure  to  the  air.  and 
hearty  food,  had  hastened  their  growth  to  a  remarkable 
degree. 

The  bam  was  larger  than  the  house,  and  was  built 
in  much  the  same  way,  though  there  were  only  wooden 
shutters  to  the  windows  instead  of  glass,  and  the  wood 
generally  was  not  so  smoothly  finished  as  it  was  in  the 
house.  The  stock  consisted  of  horses,  cows,  oxen 
pigs  and  hens.  The  ground  served  as  a  floor,  in  the 
lower  story ;  but  overhead  there  was  a  loft,  in  whicli 
hay,  straw,  and  other  articles  were  stored.  Clinton 
Ip^^^ed  from  the  boys,  that  their  father  raised  all  the 

18 


206  (JETTING     SUPPER. 

hay  ind  grain  necessary  for  the  stock.  Potatoes,  grasa, 
and  oats,  were  their  principal  crops,  but  they  generally 
had  small  patches  of  wheat  and  Indian  corn.  There 
were  a  few  apple  trees,  which  Uncle  Tim  had  raised 
from  the  seed,  but  the  boys  said  the  fruit  was  sour  and 
crabbed,  fit  only  for  "  sarse,"  or  the  pigs. 

When  Clinton  returned  to  the  house,  he  found  pre* 
•parations  making  for  supper.  The  fire-place,  —  the 
only  one  the  house  could  boast,  —  was  almost  large 
enough  to  admit  of  roasting  an  ox  whole ;  and  the 
heap  of  burning  logs,  four  feet  long  and  unsplit,  looked 
as  if  Mrs.  Lewis  was  intending  to  accomplish  some 
such  feat.  But  it  was  only  her  ordinary  fire,  such  as 
she  always  had  to  boil  the  tea-kettle,  and  bake  a  pan 
of  cakes.  The  fire-place  was  built  of  stone,  and  there 
was  a  hearth  of  the  same  material  before  it.  An  iron 
crane  swung  over  the  fire,  from  which  the  tea-kettle 
and  baking  kettle  were  suspended,  by  hooks  shaped 
like  the  letter  S.  Near  the  ceiling,  over  the  hearth,  a 
string  was  stretched  across  the  room,  on  which  a  few 
stockings  were  drying. 

The  arm-chair  was  now  converted  into  a  table,  and 
supper  was   soon  ready.     It  was  very  similar  to  the 


THE     twJVER.  207 

meal  of  which  Mr.  Davenport  and  Clinton  had  already 
partaken.  Uncle  Tim's  two  boys  did  not  come  to  the 
table  until  the  others  had  risen,  as  there  was  not  room 
enough  for  all.  After  the  boys  had  finished  their  sup- 
per, Clinton  asked  them  if  they  would  not  go  down 
with  him  to  the  river.  They  complied  with  his  re- 
quest, and  as  they  were  on  their  way,  they  passed 
Fome  logs,  by  the  side  of  which  there  was  an  axe,  with 
ft  remarkably  long  helve  or  handle. 

"  Hullo,"  said  Clinton,  "  I  guess  that  axe  was  made 
for  a  giant." 

"  No,"  said  Bill,  "  the  helve  has  to  be  long  so  that 
the  chopper  can  stand  on  the  log  when  he  cuts,  so 
%shion,"  and  he  jumped  upon  the  log,  and  gave  it  two 
or  three  blows  that  made  it  crack  to  the  centre. 

Clinton  found  the  river  narrower  than  he  expected, 
and  as  the  snow  had  drifted  in,  there  was  not  much  ice 
to  be  seen.  The  boys  told  him,  however,  that  in  the 
spring  the  stream  was  two  or  three  times  as  wide  and 
deep  as  it  was  now,  and  they  described  to  him  its  lively 
appearance  in  a  freshet,  when  thousands  of  logs  were 
swept  down  its  swift  current,  every  day,  and  the  jolly 

• 

drivers  were   continually  passing,  to  start   otF   those 


208  TALK     WITH     THE     BOYS. 

timbers  that  happened  to  lodge  against  the  rocks  or 
shores. 

"  I  'm  going  to  be  a  logger,"  said  Bill ;  ''  they  have 
first-rate  times  up  in  the  woods,  in  the  winter,  and  it 's 
real  fun  to  see  them  go  down  the  river  in  the  spring," 

"  Poh,"  said  Jim,  "  I  11  bet  you  11  get  enough  of  it 
in  one  season.  Father  says  it 's  the  hardest  life  a  fel- 
low can  choose.*^ 

"And  what  do  you  mean  to  be,  Jim?"  inquired 
Clinton. 

"  I  want  to  be  a  carpenter,"  replied  Jim,  "  but  father 
wont  get  me  any  tools,  nor  let  me  go  away  to  learn  the 
trade.  Do  you  have  any  tools  where  you  live,  Clin- 
ton?" 

"  Yes,  lots  of  them.  My  father  used  to  be  a  car- 
penter, and  has  got  a  whole  set  of  tools,  and  lets  me 
use  them  as  much  as  I  please." 

"  0,  how  I  wish  I  had  some  tools,"  continued  Jim. 
**  I  mean  to  ask  father  to  let  me  go  over  and  see  yours 
aome  time." 

"  I  wish  he  would  let  you  go,"  said  Clinton.  "Id 
show  you  all  our  tools,  and  how  to  use  them,  too." 

"Night  was  fast  drawing  on,  and  the  boys  had  now 


THE     SETILE  209 

reached  the  house,  where  they  found  Uncle  Tim  and 
Mr.  Davenport  talking  about  the  elections.  There 
was  in  the  room  an  article  of  furniture  called  a  settle, 
B  benjh  large  enough  for  three  or  four  to  sit  upon,  with 
a  high  back,  and  arms  to  lean  upon  at  each  end. 
Chnton  did  not  notice  this  particularly  as  it  stood  in 
the  back  part  of  the  room ;  but  when  the  boys  moved 
it  up  to  the  fire,  and  all  three  seated  themselves  upon 
it,  he  was  much  pleased  with  it. 

*•'  Father,"  he  said,  during  a  pause  in  the  conversa- 
tion, "  I  wish  we  had  one  of  these  seats  —  do  n*t  you 
suppose  I  could  make  one?" 

"  I  think  very  likely  you  could,"  replied  Mr.  Daven 
port. 

"  I  mean  to  try,  when  I  get  home,"  added  Clinton, 
and  he  examined  it  still  more  carefully,  to  see  how  it 
was  constructed. 

"That  settle  was  my  grand-father's.  Master  Clin- 
ton," said  Uncle  Tim,  "  and  you  must  see  if  you  can 't 
make  one  that  will  last  as  long  as  that  has  —  then 
your  grand-children  will  have  something  to  remember 
you  by." 

"  1  '11  try,"  said  Clinton,  with  a  laugh. 

18* 


210  DNCLE     TIM'S     stories. 

"'I'll  try'  —  those  are  good  words,  m^  boy,"  said 
Uncle  Tim.  « That 's  what  Col.  Mller  said,  when 
Gen,  Brown  asked  him  if  he  could  carry  Queenstowu 
Heights.  '  I  '11  try,'  said  he,  and  sure  enough  he  did 
try,  and  gained  a  splendid  victory,  and  Congress  gave 
him  a  gold  medal,  with  'I  '11  try'  engraved  on  it.  So 
you  stick  to  that  motto.  Master  Clinton,  and  I  guess 
your  grand-children  will  have  a  settle  to  remember  you 
by  —  do  n't  you  think  so?" 

Clinton  laughed,  and  seeing  Uncle  Tim  was  in  so 
pleasant  a  mood,  he  asked  him  if  he  would  n't  let  Jim 
go  over  to  see  him,  some  time.  Jim,  finding  the  ground 
was  broken,  lost  no  time  in  putting  in  a  word  for  him- 
self; and  as  Mr.  Davenport  said  he  should  like  to 
have  the  boys  visit  Clinton,  Uncle  Tim  gave  a  sort  of 
half  promise  that  Jim  should  go,  some  time  when  he 
could  spare  him. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  listening  to 
Uncle  Tim's  stories  of  his  early  life  in  the  woods.  He 
related  many  interesting  accounts  of  his  adveiftures 
with  bears  and  wolves,  and  other  savage  animals, 
which   were   thoi  more   numerous  than   now       One 


THE     THREE     BROTHERS.  211- 

of  liis  anecdotes,  which  greatly  amused  Clmton,  was  as 
follows :  — 

"  Now  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  a  story,"  said  Uncle 
Tim,  "  that  happened  a  good  many  years  ago,  up  in 
Vermont.  I  guess  it  was  afore  I  was  born,  but  never 
mind,  it  may  be  just  as  new  to  you,  for  all  that.  There 
weie  three  brothers  that  went  from  Massachusetts  and 
settled  close  together  in  the  wilderness,  up  there.  They 
all  lived  in  one  log  hut,  and  ate  out  of  the  same  por- 
ringer, but  each  fellow  had  his  own  patch  of  land,  and 
as  it  was  pleasanter  being  together  than  alone,  they 
agreed  to  take  turns  in  working  upon  each  oiher's 
farms.  One  day,  all  hands  worked  on  Jake's  farm,  the 
next  day  on  Sam's,  and  the  next  on  Bill's  —  perhaps 
I  have  n*t  got  the  names  right,  but  never  mind  that. 
'But  by-and-by  one  of  them  got  sort  of  jealous,  or  dis- 
satisfied, or  something  of  that  kind,  and  said  he  would 
not  work  that  way  any  longer,  no  how.  So  the  other 
two  stuck  together,  and  let  the  odd  sheep  do  as  he 
pleased.  Well,  one  day,  while  the  two  that  agreed 
were  working  in  the  field,  they  heurd  a  tremendous 
outcry  from  the  other  brother's  lot.  So  they  up  and 
leized  theiv  rifles,  which  they  always  kept  right  nnde? 


2' 2  A     BAD     PREDICAMENT 

ti.eir  noses,  and  ran  o  see  what  the  matter  was.     Thej 
expected  to   see   some  horrible  sight,  you  know,  but 
what  do  you  suppose  they  found  ?     Why,  there  was 
their  brother  up  in  a  Httle  sapling,  rocking  to  and  fro, 
and   bello'wing  with   all  his  might,  and  below  was  a 
great  bear,  looking  up   dreadful  earnest  at  him.     It 
seems   the   bear  came  suddenly   at   him,  and   as   he 
had  n't  time  to  go  after  his   rifle,  he   sprung  to  the 
nearest   sapling,  which   he   knew   the   bear   could  n't 
climb.     But  the  sapling  was  so   slender  it  bent  over 
like  a  bow,  bringing  him  in  such  a  position  that  he  had 
to  hold  on  with  both  his  feet  and  hands,  and  the  bent 
part  of  his  body,  which  was  covered  with  his  buck- 
skin breeches,  hung  down  almost  within  reach  of  the 
bear.     Old  Bruin  soon  discovered  this,  and  so  stood  up 
on  his  hind  legs,  to  see  if  he  could  n't  reach  him  that ' 
way ;  but  all  he  could  do  was  to  give  the  fellow  a  push 
with  his  fore  paw,  which  set  him  and  his  sapling  to 
swinging    back   and  forth.      His    claws   did   not   go 
thi'ough  the  buckskin  breeches,  but  the  man  thought 
fie  was  a  gone  case,  and  roared  dreadfully.     The  bear 
then  squatted  on  his  haunches  to  enjoy  the  sport,  and 
wlien  the  force  of  the  blow  was  spent,  and  the  maa 


GOING     TO     BED.  213 

began  to  get  steady,  he  up  and  gave  him  another  start. 
When  the  other  two  fellows  saw  the  state  of  the  case, 
they  laughed  about  as  loud  as  their  brother  holkred, 
and  it  w^as  some  time  afore  they  could  steady  their 
hands  so  as  to  put  a  bullet  into  the  bear.  After  that 
scrape  all  three  of  them  hitched  horses  together  again 
and  went  to  work  on  the  old  plan.  The  old  bear  paid 
dear  for  his  sport,  but  you  can't  say  he  did  n't  do  some 
good  in  the  world,  can  you  ?  If  it  had  n't  been  for 
him,  just  as  likely  as  not  the  fuss  among  those  brothers 
would  have  grown  bigger  and  bigger,  until  they 
quarrelled  just  like  cats  and  dogs." 

At  nine  o'clock,  Uncle  Tim  wound  up  his  yarns,  and 
soon  after  all  retired  to  bed.  They  ascended  to  the 
second  floor  by  means  of  a  ladder.  There  were  two 
bed-rooms,  with  a  space  between  them,  which  served 
both  as  an  entry  and  a  store  room.  The  great  chim- 
ney came  up  through  this  entry.  Each  bed-room  had 
one  window,  in  the  gable  end  of  the  house,  but  the, 
space  between  the  rooms  was  dark,  except  when  the 
chamber  doors  were  open.  The  roof  came  down 
nearly  to  the  floor,  on  each  side,  and  in  the  centre  of 
the  rooms,  a  tall  man  could  hardly  stand   erect.     Mr 


214  THE     BED-R00  5I. 

DavenporL  and  Clinton  slept  in  one  of  these  rooms^ 
and  Bill  and  Jim  in  the  other.  Uncle  Tim  and  his 
wife  had  a  bed-room  down  stairs.  A  straw  bed  made 
up  upon  the  floor,  without  a  bedstead,  a  large  chest,  and 
one  chair,  were  the  only  furniture  in  the  room  where 
Clinton  slept.  There  were  several  long  wooden  pegs 
driven  into  the  logs  which  served  as  rafters,  upon 
which  they  hung  their  clothing ;  and  soon  both  were 
sleeping  as  sweetly  as  though  they  had  been  quartered 
in  the  best  room  of  a  "  first-class  hotel." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE     LOGGERS 


H'^HE  sun  rose  clear,  the  next  morning,  and  after  an 
early  and  bountiful  breakfast,  Mr.  Davenport  and 
Clinton  bid  good-bye  to  Uncle  Tim  and  his  family,  and 
resumed  their  journey.  The  country  through  which 
they  rode  was  much  the  same  as  that  they  had  already 
passed  over,  with  the  exception  that  it  was  if  possible 
even  more  stern  and  wild,  not  a  single  house  or  culti- 
vated spot  meeting  their  eyes  during  the  whole  :fore- 
noon's  ride.  After  the  first  hour,  Clinton  was  not  quite 
as  lively  as  usual.  In  fact,  he  felt  a  trifle  less  cheerful 
than  ordinary  —  he  could  not  tell  whether  it  sprang 
from  a  touch  of  home-sickness,  or  from  a  sense  of 
lonesomeness.  But  his  unpleasant  feelings  arose 
more  from  the  influence  of  the  dreary  winter  scenery 
upon  his  mind,  than  from  either  of  these  causes.  His 
father,  noiicinjr  this,  chatted   away  in   a   more  Hvely 


216  DINNER     IN     THE     WOODS. 

Strain  than  usual,  and  after  awhile  succeeded  in  dis« 
polling  the  tinge  of  gloom  from  his  mind. 

The  road  being  travelled  but  very  little,  the  sleigh- 
ing was  poor,  and  there  was  no  prospect  of  their 
reaching  their  destination  before  the  middle  of  the  af- 
ternoon. Accordingly,  about  noon,  they  reined  up,  for 
the  purpose  of  resting  the  horse,  and  eating  their  din- 
ner.  Having  given  Fanny  a  wisp  of  hay,  to  take  up 
her  mind,  they  collected  together  a  heap  of  dead  wood, 
the  remnants  of  fallen  trees,  etc.,  which  they  found 
near  the  road,  and  set  it  on  fire.  It  burned  finely,  and 
sent  out  a  cheerful  warmth,  in  which  they  seated  them- 
selves, and  partook  with  a  keen  relish  of  the  various 
good  things  which  Clinton's  mother  had  stowed  away 
in  the  sleigh-box. 

After  halting  about  an  hour  at  this  place,  they  re- 
sumed their  journey,  and  a  ride  of  about  three  hours 
brought  them  within  hearing  of  the  loggers.  The 
first  indication  they  had  that  they  were  near  the  camp, 
was  the  loud  "  Gee,  haw-buck,  whoa!"  of  a  man  who 
was  driving  oxen.  These  sounds  had  a  very  enliven- 
ing effect  upon  Clinton,  who  could  scarcely  refrain 
from   jumping  from  his  seat,  and  running  ahead,  so 


MR      JONES.  21? 

impatient  was  he  to  see  some  signs  of  humanit}  in  the 
dreary  wilderness.  But  in  a  few  moments,  they  came 
in  sight  of  the  camp,  and  soon  they  noticed  two  or 
three «3en,  with  long  hair  and  immense  whiskers,  ap* 
proaching  them  from  different  directions.  Mr.  Daven 
port  recognized  an  old  acquaintance  in  one  of  them, 
and  received  a  most  hearty  welcome  from  him. 

"  Mr  Jones,"  said  Mr.  Davenport,  "  my  boy  has  long 
wanted  to  see  how  the  loggers  live ;  and  as  I  had  a 
little  leisure  and  the  weather  and  sleighing  were 
promising,  I  thought  I  would  gratify  his  wishes." 

"  I  am  right  glad  to  see  you,  and  him,  too/'  said  Mr. 
Jones ;  and  he  seized  Clinton  by  the  hand,  and  gave 
it  a  gi'ipQ  and  a  shake  which  he  felt  for  ten  minutes 
afterwaid;  —  "why,  I  have  n't  laid  eyes  on  a  child  or 
a  youngster,  for  four  months,  and  it 's  a  real  treat  to 
see  you,  I  can  tell  you.  I  Ve  got  a  boy  of  my  own, 
at  home,  about  your  size,  and  a  fine  little  fellow  he  is, 
too.  I  'm  afraid  you  'U  find  rather  poor  quarters  here 
in  the  camp,  but  you  are  welcome  to  such  accommoda- 
tions as  we  have,  just  so  long  as  you  'U  stay." 

The  horse  was  taken  from  the  sleigh  and  led  to  (lie 
'cattle  hut,  and  Mr.  Jones  conducted  Mr.  Davenport  and 

19 


218  THE    CAMP. 

• 

Clinton  to  one  of  the  camps,  where  he  told  them  tc 
make  themselves  at  home.  He  offered  them  food, 
which  they  declined  until  the  usual  supper-hour.  He 
had  many  questions  to  ask  concerning  what  was  going 
on  in  the  world,  from  which  the  loggers  are  almost 
shut  out ;  and  as  he  and  Mr.  Davenport  were  absorbed 
ill  their  con.versation,  Clinton  slipped  out  to  reconnoitre 
the  premises. 

The  camp,  he  found,  was  situated  in  the  midst  of  the 
woods  ;  and  not,  as  he  expected  to  find  it,  in  a  clearing. 
There  was  no  scenery  at  all ;  the  tall  trees  shut  out 
the  prospect  on  every  side,  and  the  only  opening  for 
the  eye  was  towards  the  clear,  blue  heavens  above. 
Only  a  few  trees  had  been  cut  down,  to  serve  as  mate- 
rial for  the  houses,  or  as  fuel.  This  spot  was  chosen 
for  the  sake  of  the  shelter  it  afforded  in  severe  weather, 
and  also,  because  there  was  an  excellent  spring  of  wa- 
ter convenient  to  it. 

Clinton  now  turned  his  attention  to  the  camps. 
These  were  built  of  logs,  but  in  a  style  much  inferior 
to  Uncle  Tim's  house,  in  the  clearing.  As  they  are  but 
temporary  affairs,  the  loggers  only  aim  at  making  them 
habitJ^tble  for  one  or  two  winters.     There  were  thr^ 


LOG     CABINS  . 


219 


of  these  buildings,  one  of  which  was  used  by  tht  oxen. 
They  were  each  about  twenty  feet  long  by  fifteen  wide 
and  were  built  of  logs  placed  one  on  the  top  of  another, 
and  the  whole  sides  and  roof  covered  with  bark.  Each 
camp  had  one  door,  but  no  windows.  A  hole  in  the 
middle  of  the  roof,  three  or  four  feet  square,  served 
both  for  a  chimney  and  a  window. 


Clinton  now  returned  to  the  camp,  where  his  father 
and  Mr.  Jones  were  sitting,  and  began  to  inspect  the 
interior.    He  found  there  were  no  partitions, — for  the 


220  A    TEEP     INSIDE. 


loggers  have  no  occasion  for  more  than  oi  e  room.  Tlia 
principal  feature  of  the  interior  was  the  fire-plaee. 
This  was  directly  under  the  hole  in  the  roof,  and  was 
about  six  feet  in  diameter.  The  ground  had  been  dug 
out  nearly  two  feet  deep,  to  make  a  bed  for  the  lire 
and  ashes,  and  the  space  was  surrounded  by  stones. 
Benches,  made  of  split  logs,  were  arranged  around  the 
fire,  which  served  both  as  seats  and  tables.  He  no- 
ticed that  the  door  had  a  wooden  latch,  which  was  very 
ingeniously  whittled  to  resemble  an  iron  one.  The 
only  other  articles  in  the  room  were  a  pork  barrel, 
water  bucket,  basin,  dipper,  towel,  a  few  cooking  and 
eating  utensils,  and  a  dozen  greasy  and  well-worn 
books  and  newspapers.  The  floor  was  thickly  strewn 
with  leaves  of  arbor  vitae,  especially  under  the  eaves, 
which  came  down  to  within  three  feet  of  the  ground. 
These  formed  the  loggers'  beds. 

Such  was  the  rude  house  in  which  Clinton  was  tc 
spend  two  or  three  nights.  He  afterwards  found  that 
it  differed  from  the  cattle  hut  only  in  having  a  fire- 
place, and  an  outlet  through  the  roof.  But  that  fire- 
place, with  the  "  rousing  fire"  which  it  afforded  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  and  night,  made  the  hovel  compura 


RETURNING    FROM    WORK.  22l 

tivelj  cheerful  and  comfortable.  So  far  from  feeling 
disappointed  with  his  quarters,  Clinton  longed  for  bed- 
time to  come,  that  he  might  enjoy  the  new  sensation 
of  sleeping  in  such  a  romantic  place. 

At  sunset,  the  men  began  to  return  from  their  work. 
They  all  wore  coarse  but  warm  and  durable  clothing, 
and  one  article  seemed  universal  among  them,  namely, 
red  flannel  shirts.  Their  beards  and  hair  had  not  been 
trimmed  since  they  left  home.  As  they  arrived  at 
their  quarters,  they  flocked  around  Mr.  Davenport  and 
Clinton,  as  if  a  strange  face  was  a  very  unusual  sight 
among  them,  as,  indeed,  it  was.  When  they  had  all 
returned  from  their  work,  CUnton  counted  twenty  men 
and  six  yoke  of  oxen. 

Having  washed  their  faces  and  hands,  the  men  now 
commenced  preparations  for  supper,  in  both  camps.  It 
was  fast  gi'owing  dark,  but  they  had  no  lamps,  the  blaz- 
ing fire  lighting  up  their  houses  very  brilliantly.  Ket- 
tles of  water  were  boiled,  and  tea  was  made.  Presently, 
one  of  the  men  began  to  poke  round  in  the  ashes  and 
coals,  and  soon  drew  forth  a  large  baking-kettle,  which 
had  been  buried  there  two  hours  before.  On  taking 
off  the  cover,  a  huge  loaf  of  bread  presented   itself 

19* 


222  SUPPER. 

wliich  even  an  accomplished  housewife  might  have 
been  proud  to  own,  so  far  as  appearance  was  con- 
cerned. This,  with  a  few  slices  of  boiled  salt  pork, 
and  tea  sweetened  with  molasses  and  without  milk, 
constituted  their  supper.  They  had  no  butter,  but 
spread  molasses  on  their  bread,  instead.  Clinton  ate 
heartily  of  the  homely  fare.  The  bread  proved  quite 
as  nice  as  it  looked,  and  even  the  tea  tasted  pleasantly 
to  him.  Mr.  Davenport  emptied  what  remained  of 
the  contents  of  the  baskets  which  his  wife  had  stowed 
away  in  the  sleigh-box,  saying  that  he  would  exchange 
his  cakes  and  pies  for  a  little  of  their  bread,  when  he 
started  for  home.  He  and  Clinton  had  consumed  but 
a  small  part  of  their  provisions,  and  this  disposal  of  the 
surplus  appeared  to  gratify  the  loggers  very  much,  as 
they  had  not  tasted  of  any  luxuries  of  this  kind  for 
many  a  day. 

After  supper,  the  men  gathered  around  the  fire,  on 
tlie  benches,  and  talked,  and  told  stories,  until  nearly 
ten  o'clock,  when  one  after  another  began  to  creep 
uway  to  his  bed  of  leaves,  and  stretch  himself  out, 
with  his  feet  towards  the  fire.  Clinton  and  his  father 
SGcr.  followed  their  example,  and  extended  themselves 


NIGHT    IN    A     CAMP.  225 

npon  the  soft  leaves,  without  removing  their  clothing. 
The  novelty  of  their  position,  the  crackling  and  glare 
of  the  fire,  and  the  breathing  and  snoring  of  a  dozen 
Etrong  men,  did  not  permit  either  of  them  to  sleep 
much  during  the  first  part  of  the  night.  Clinton  lay 
for  more  than  two  hours,  at  times  watching  the  stars 
through  the  opening  in  the  roof,  and  then  gazing  stead- 
fastly at  the  flickering  fire  and  the  curling  smoke 
spangled  with  sparks.  But  at  last  he  fell  asleep, 
though  he  awoke  again,  several  times,  before  morning. 
Occasionally,  one  of  the  men,  w^ho  happened  to  awake, 
would  get  up  and  put  a  fresh  log  upon  the  fire,  which 
is  kept  burning  by  night  as  well  as  by  day. 

By  sunrise,  the  next  morning,  the  men  in  both 
camps  had  despatch^  their  breakfasts,  and  turned 
out  the  oxen,  and  were  ready  to  commence  the  day's 
work.  Mr.  Davenport  and  Clinton  determined  to  ac- 
company them  to  the  scene  of  their  operations,  which 
was  a  short  distance  from  the  camp,  and  spread  over  a 
considerable  extent  of  ground.  The  men  did  not  all 
work  together,  but  after  proceeding  a  little  way,  they 
Bepurated  into  three  different  gangs.  The  choppers,  or 
those  who  cut  down  the  trees,  formed  one  party,  and 


224  THE    THREE     GANGS. 

proceeded  by  themselves  to  their  particular  spot. 
Another  gang  were  called  swampers.  It  was  their 
business  to  clear  roads  from  the  felled  trees  to  the  land- 
ing place  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  where  the  logs  re- 
main until  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  in  the  spring, 
when  they  are  rolled  into  the  water.  The  third  party 
were  teamsters,  whose  business  it  was  to  haul  the  logs 
from  the  forest  to  the  stream.  These  last  had  the  as- 
sistance of  the  oxen,  which  were  attached  to  little  "  bob- 
sleds," as  they  were  called,  upon  which  the  heavy  end 
of  the  log  was  placed,  while  the  other  dragged  upon 
the  snow. 

Clinton  had  abundant  time  to  witness  the  operations 
of  all  these  gangs,  during  the  day.  He  found  there 
was  not  much  of  either  novelty  or  variety,  in  their  la- 
bors, which  in  fact  differed  but  little  from  the  routine 
of  the  wood-chopper,  which  he  had  often  witnessed  at 
home.  The  sturdy  strokes  of  the  choppers,  followed 
by  the  falling  of  the  noble  tree,  —  the  stripping  of  the 
prostrate  trunk  of  its  branches,  —  the  clearing  of  a 
passage  way  for  the  oxen  through  the  small  growth, 
and  the  hauling  of  the  log  to  the  river's  bank,  were  by 
no  means  novel  sights  to  him.    At  the  landing-place  he 


P  Pw  I  V  A  T  E     MARKS.  225 

found  hundreds  of  logs  piled  up,  awaiting  ihe  openinc 
of  the  river.  Each  log  had  a  peculiar  and  uniform 
mark  cut  in  the  sap-wood,  by  an  axe,  somewhat  re- 
eembling  a  crow's  foot,  by  which  the  owner  would  be 
enabled  to  know  it  when  it  should  reach  the  great 
boom  far  away  down  the  river,  and  become  mixed  up 
with  thousands  of  other  logs,  belonging  to  many  differ- 
ent persons.  Each  owner  has  his  own  private  mark 
or  device,  which  is  bored  or  cut  into  all  his  logs,  and 
thus  he  is  always  able  to  distinguish  them  from  those 
of  other  lumber-men. 

Clinton  kept  with  the  loggers  all  day,  witnessing 
their  operations,  and  asking  questions  about  their  busi- 
ness. Indeed,  he  did  not  dare  to  go  far  from  them,  for 
fear  of  jrettinoj  lost  in  the  woods.  At  sunset,  he  re- 
turned  with  them  from  their  labors,  and  after  the 
homely  evening  meal,  he  sat  and  listened  to  the  stories 
of  the  loggers,  until  bed-time.  These  stories  were 
mostly  of  encounters  with  bears  and  wolves  in  the 
wilderness,  of  hunting  excursions,  and  of  adventures 
and  exploits  in  the  logging-camp  and  upon  the  river. 
One  of  th?  oldest  and  most  intelligent  of  the  men  re- 
Iate4  the  following  adventure,  in  answering  some  in- 


226  LOG    DRIVING. 

quiries  of  Clinton  concerning  tlie  manner  of  driving 
logs  to  mill :  — 

••  Six  years  ago,"  said  he,  "  I  was  logging  upon  the 
head  waters  of  the  Penobscot.  We  cut  eight  thousand 
logs ;  and  about  the  last  of  April  we  started  them  down 
stream.  It  took  two  or  three  days  to  roll  them  all  in, 
and  by  that  time,  some  of  those  we  started  first  were 
perhaps  more  than  fifty  miles  down  stream,  whilo 
others  had  lodged  within  a  hundred  rods  of  us.  So 
we  divided  into  three  gangs,  one  to  descend  by  boats, 
and  the  others  by  land  each  side  of  the  stream.  Each 
man  was  provided  with  a  pole,  having  a  stout  hook  in 
the  end,  and  with  these  we  pushed  off  the  logs,  where 
ever  we  found  they  had  lodged  on  the  banks  or  rocks. 
The  first  few  days,  we  made  pretty  good  progress, 
having  little  to  do  but  to  roll  in  the  logs,  and  set 
them  afloat  merrily  down  the  river." 

"Did  you  camp  at  nights,  as  you  do  here?"  in- 
quired Clinton. 

"  Yes,  we  camped  out,  but  we  had  nothing  but  little 
huts  made  of  spruce  boughs,  where  we  ate  and  slept 
—  as  I  was  saying,  —  all  went  on  pretty  easy  at  first 
and  some  days  we  got  over  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  of 


A    JAM.  227 

ground.  But  bj-and-by  we  came  to  a  jam.  Do  you 
know  what  a  jam  is  ?  " 

«  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  when  the  river  gets  choked  up  with  logs 
which  have  met  with  some  obstruction,  we  call  it  a 
jam.  Sometimes,  a  thousand  logs  will  accumulate  in 
this  way,  forming  a  sort  of  dam  across  the  river,  and  in- 
terrupting the  flow  of  the  water.  And,  oftentimes,  all 
this  is  occasioned  by  a  single  log  catching  upon  a  pro- 
jecting rock ;  and  if  that  single  log  could  be  started, 
the  whole  mass  would  go  down  stream  with  a  tremen- 
dous rush." 

"I  should  think  that  would  be  fine  sport,"  said 
Clinton. 

"  It 's  all  very  fine  to  look  at,"  continued  the  logger ; 
"  but  you  would  n't  think  there  was  much  sport  about 
it,  if  you  had  to  go  out  upon  this  immense  raft,  and 
loosen  the  logs,  at  the  risk  of  being  ground  to  atoms 
by  them  when  they  start." 

"Are  people  ever  killed  in  that  way?"  inquired 
Clinton. 

"  Not  very  often ;  for  none  but  the  most  experienced 
dri^  ers  are  allowed  to  undertake  such  a  delicate  job 


228  STARTINGAJAM. 

and  they  are  always  very  cautious  how  they  proceed. 
But  let  me  go  on  with  my  story:  the  jam  I  was  telling 
you  about,  happened  to  be  in  a  rapid,  rocky  place, 
where  the  river  passed  through  a  narrow  gorge.  On 
each  side  were  steep  cliffs,  more  than  sixty  feet  high, 
which  almost  hung  over  the  water.  The  only  way  to 
reach  the  jam  was  to  descend  by  a  rope  from  one  of 
these  cliffs.  This  was  so  hazardous  an  undertaking, 
that  we  concluded  to  wait  a  day  or  two,  to  see  if  the 
choked  up  mass  wouldn't  clear  itself,  by  its  own 
pressure,  and  thus  save  us  all  trouble  and  danger. 
But  after  waiting  nearly  two  days,  there  were  no  signs 
of  the  jam's  breaking.  We  can  generally  tell  when 
this  is  going  to  happen,  by  the  swaying  of  the  logs  ; 
but  the  mass  was  as  firm  and  compact  as  ever ;  and  it 
was  evident  that  we  must  do  something  to  start  it. 
There  was  an  old  and  very  expert  driver  in  our  gang, 
who  offered  to  descend  to  the  jam,  and  see  what  could 
be  done.  So  we  rigged  a  sort  of  crane,  and  lowered 
him  down  from  the  cliff  by  means  of  a  rope  fastened 
around  his  body,  under  his  arms.  After  he  had  looked 
around  a  little,  he  sung  out  to  us  that  he  had  discovered 
the  cause  of  the  trouble.     A  few  strokes  of  the  axe  in 


A    FEARFUL     SCENE.  220 

• 

R  certain  place,  he  said,  would  start  tlie  jam  ;  and  he 
cautioned  us  to  pull  him  up,  gently,  as  soon  as  he 
should  cry,  '  Pull ! '  and  also  to  be  careful,  and  not 
jerk  him  against  the  precipice.  He  then  began  to  hew 
into  the  log  which  was  the  cause  of  the  jam.  After 
he  had  worked  a  few  minutes,  the  mass  began  to  heave 
and  sway,  and  he  cried  out,  '  Pull ! '  As  the  spot 
where  he  had  been  chopping  was  near  the  centre  of  the 
stream,  he  started  instantly  towards  the  cliff,  so  that 
his  rope  should  be  perpendicular.  But  before  he  could 
put  himself  in  the  right  position  for  being  drawn  up, 
the  huge  mass  of  logs  rose  up  in  a  body,  and  then,  with 
a  crash,  rolled  away  in  e\ery  direction  from  under  his 
feet.  The  scene  was  awful.  Some  of  the  logs  plunged 
headlong  down  the  rapids,  with  tremendous  force;  oth- 
ers* leaped  entirely  out  of  the  water,  turning  complete 
somersets,  end  over  end ;  others  were  hurled  crosswise 
upon  each  other,  or  dashed  madly  together  by  hundreds, 
or  were  twisted  and  twirled  about,  in  a  most  fearful 
manner.  At  the  first  movement  of  the  jam,  our  man 
\v&3  plunged  into  the  water.  For  a  moment,  we  were 
horror-struck,  but  we  pulled  away  at  the  rope,  ex- 
pecting to  draw  up  only  a  mangled  and  lifeless  body. 

20 


230  THE     BOOM. 

And  we  should  have  done  so,  had  we  been  half  a 
second  later ;  for  Ave  had  just  raised  the  man  out  of 
the  water,  when  a  mass  of  seventy-foot  logs  swept  by, 
directly  under  him,  with  force  enough  to  have  broken 
every  bone  in  his  body,  had  he  been  in  their  way.  He 
suffered  no  harm  but  his  ducking  and  fright.  But  I 
do  n't  believe  he  will  ever  forget  that  day's  adventure. 
So,  my  boy,  you  see  it  is  n't  all  sport,  driving  logs,  — 
though  some  think  this  is  the  pleasantest  part  of  a 
loo;o;er's  life." 

"  How  do  you  stop  the  logs,  when  they  have  gone  as 
far  as  you  want  them  to  go  ?  "  inquired  Clinton. 

"They  are  stopped  by  great  booms,  built  of  logs,  and 
bolted  and  chained  together  very  strong.  These  booms 
are  rigged  across  the  river,  so  that  the  floating  logs  can- 
not pass  them.  The  great  boom  at  Old  To^vn,  near 
Bangor,  where  our  drive  brought  up,  that  year,  had 
over  a  million  of  logs  in  it,  when  we  got  down  there, 
seven  weeks  after  we  started  from  the  forests.  The 
logs  lay  upon  one  another  about  ten  feet  deep,  and  ex- 
tended back  for  miles.  They  belonged  to  hundreds  of 
diiferent  men  and  companies,  but  as  each  had  its  own 
mark  there  was  no  dilficulty  in  sorting  them  out.    The 


OPENING    THE    BOOM.  23i 

boom  is  opened  at  set  times,  to  let  out  a  portion  of  the 
logs,  and  then  the  river  below  is  all  alive  with  men 
and  boys,  in  small  boats,  who  grapple  the  logs  as  they 
float  down,  and  form  them  into  rafts,  or  tow  them  to  the 
various  mills  on  the  nver.  T  ery  tew  of  the  logs  es- 
cape, unless  too  many  are  let  out  from  the  boom  at 
once,  or  the  river  is  swollen  by  a  freshet,  in  which  case 
they  sometimes  float  off  to  sea  and  are  lost.  But  aU 
hands  seem  to  be  going  to  bed,  and  I  guess  we  had 
better  follow  their  example." 

Upon  this,  the  old  logger  stretched  himseh*  upon  the 
bed  of  faded  leaves  ;  and  Chnton,  who  for  some  time 
had  been  his  only  listener,  was  socn  in  the  same 
position. 


CHAPTER  XYTL 

A     TALK     IN     THE     WOODS. 

T?ARLY  the  next  morning,  'Mr.  Davenport  and 
Clinton  decided  to  start  for  home,  as  there  were  in- 
dications of  an  approaching  change  in  the  weather, 
which  might  render  the  roads  very  uncomfortahle,  if  it 
did  not  compel  them  to  prolong  their  stay  at  the  log- 
gers' camp  longer  than  would  be  agreeable.  After  a 
breakfast  of  hot  bread  and  molasses,  fried  pork,  and 
tea,  Fanny  was  harnessed,  and  bidding  farewell  to 
their  forest  friends,  they  jumped  into  the  sleigh,  and 
set  their  faces  towards  Brookdale.  As  they  were  rid- 
ing along  the  solitary  road,  Mr.  Davenport  asked  Clin- 
ton if  he  thought  he  should  like  to  be  a  logger. 

"  I  do  n't  know  but  I  should,"  he  replied  ;  "  there 
are  a  good  many  things  about  the  business  I  should 
like.  It  makes  tlicin  strong  and  healthy,  and  I  guess 
they  have  good  times  in  the  camps,  and  on  the  rivers. 


A  logger's   life.  233 

It  is  quite  a  romantic  life,  too,  and  they  seem  to  meet 
with  a  good  many  curious  adventures." 

"  The  novelty  and  romance  of  it  soon  wear  off,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Davenport.  "  These  gone,  do  you  think  you 
should  like  the  business  well  enough  to  follow  it  up 
year  after  year  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  I  suppose  I  should  get  tired  of  it, 
being  away  from  home  so  much  of  the  time,"  said 
CUnton. 

"  The  work  is  very  hard,  too,"  suggested  his  father. 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  the  pay  is  not  very  great,  in  proportion.'' 

"Isn't  it?" 

"It  is,  however,  a  very  useful  employment,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Davenport,  "  and  there  must  be  men  to  en- 
gage in  it.  It  is  an  honorable  employment,  too,  for  all 
useful  labor  is  honorable.  But  I  should  not  call  it  a 
very  desirable  employment.  The  logger  not  only  haa 
to  labor  very  hard,  but  he  must  go  far  away  from  his 
home,  and  deprive  himself  of  nearly  every  comfort 
of  civilized  life,  an^  expose  himself  to  many  dangers. 
And  for  all  this  hardship  and  toil,  he  does  not  receive 

20* 


234  MR.     JONES. 

BO  much  pay  as  many  a  mechanic  earns  in  his  shop, 
with  half  the  effort." 

"  Does  not  jMi\  Preston  make  a  great  deal  of  mcney 
at  logging?"  inquired  Clinton. 

"  I  suppose  he  makes  a  fair  business  of  it,"  replied 
his  father ;  "  but  he  is  a  contractor,  and  employs  a  good 
many  hands.  I  was  speaking  of  the  hired  men,  not 
of  those  wJio  manage  che  business." 

"  Is  JNJj    Jones  a  contractor?" 

"  No,  he  works  by  the  month,  and  hard  work  he 
'     finds  it,  too,  I  fear." 

Then  why  does  he  follow  it?'* 

"  Because  he  is  obliged  to.  He  has  a  family  to 
Bupport,  and  this  is  the  only  way  by  which  he  can 
provide  for  them.  Should  you  like  to  know  how^  it 
happened  that  he  cannot  make  money  by  an  easier  and 
pleasanter  method  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Clinton. 

"  When  he  and  I  were  boys  together,"  continued  jMt. 
Davenport,  "  his  father  was  rich,  but  mine  was  poor. 
When  I  was  nine  years  old,  I  was  taken  from  school, 
and  put  out  to  work;  but  Henry  Jones  was  not  €uly 


.     THE     TWO     BOYS.  235 

kept  at  school,  for  many  years  after,  but  was  not  re- 
quired to  do  any  work,  even  in  bis  leisure  bours.  He 
was  well  dressed,  and  bad  everything  be  wanted,  and 
I  can  remember  to  this  day  how  I  used  to  envy  him. 
I  could  not  go  to  school  even  in  winter,  but  bad  to 
work  constantly,  and  earn  my  own  living.  When  I 
was  about  fourteen  years  old,  I  engaged  myself  as  an 
apprentice  to  a  carpenter.  I  liked  the  work,  and  soon 
made  pretty  good  progress.  As  I  had  the  long  winter 
evenings  to  myself,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might 
make  up  for  my  lack  of  school  privileges,  by  an  im- 
provement of  those  leisure  hours.  So  1  got  some 
school  books,  and  set  myself  to  studying.  Soon  after 
I  reached  my  sixteenth  year,  I  offered  myself  as  a 
candidate  for  schoolmaster  in  our  town,  and  was  ac- 
cepted, for  the  winter  term,  my  master  having  agreed 
to  release  me  for  three  months,  as  he  usually  had  little 
business  during  that  portion  of  the  year.  And  I,  the 
poor  self-taught  boy,  was  not  only  a  school  teacher,  but 
Henry  Jones,  whose  privileges  I  had  so  often  envied, 
was  one  of  my  scholars !  A  very  dull  scholar  he  was, 
too,  for  he  did  not  take  the  slightest  interest  in  his 
Btudiea.     Before  I  had  finished  my  term,  he  left  school, 


236  henry's    history. 

against  tlie  wishes  of  his  parents,  having  been  fairlj^ 
shamed  out  of  it.  He  remained  about  home  several 
months,  doing  nothing,  until  his  father  secured  a  situa- 
tion for  him  in  a  merchant's  store  in  Portland  ;  but 
when  he  made  his  appearance  in  the  counting-rdbm, 
the  merchant  found  him  so  deficient  in  penmanship 
and  arithmetic,  that,  after  a  week's  trial,  he  sent  Henry 
back  to  his  father,  with  the  message  that  he  would  not 
answer.  His  failure  discouraged  him  from  attempting 
to  do  anything  more.  Instead  of  remedying  the  de- 
fects in  his  education,  he  refused  to  go  to  school  any 
more,  but  spent  his  time  principally  in  lounging  about 
his  father's  place  of  business,  and  in  sauntering  around 
the  town.  He  was  a  perfect  idler,  and  as  his  father 
continued  to  support  and  clothe  him,  he  took  no  more 
thought  for  the  morrow,  than  the  pigs  in  our  sty  do, 
and  I  doubt  whether  he  was  half  so  valuable  to  the 
world  as  they  are. 

"  But  this  state  of  things  could  not  last  for  ever. 
His  father  had  embarked  very  largely  in  the  famous 
eastern  land  speculations,  and  when  the  crash  came, 
he  found  himself  ruined.  And  yet  even  then,  Henry 
managed  to  hang  upon  him  like  a  dead-weight  f()r  twc 


A     FATAL     MISTAKE..  237 

or  three  years,  sponging  his  living  out  of  his  father's 
Ehattered  fortunes.  But  after  a  while,  his  father  died, 
and  then  Mr.  Jones  had  to  shift  for  himself.  13 ut 
what  was  he  fit  for  ?  It  took  him  a  great  while  to  find 
out.  He  tried  several  lighter  kinds  of  employment, 
but  did  not  succeed.  At  length  a  man  came  along 
who  was  making  up  a  gang  of  loggers,  and  despairing 
of  any  better  employment,  he  engaged  in  that,  and  has 
continued  at  it  ever  since.  He  is  with  his  family  only 
four  or  five  months  in  the  year,  and  during  that  time 
he  works  hard,  at  farming,  not  for  himself,  but  as  a 
hired  man." 

"  I  should  think  he  would  feel  bad,  w^hen  he  thinks 
how  he  wasted  his  youth,"  said  Clinton. 

"  He  does,"  said  Mr.  Davenport.  "  He  is  a  worthy 
and  industrious  man  now,  but  he  cannot  repair  the 
errors  of , his  boyhood.  Had  he  worked  half  as  hard 
when  a  youth  as  he  has  had  to  since,  he  would  proba- 
bly be  under  no  necessity  of  laboring  now.  But  then 
his  parents  were  rich  and  indulgent,  and  he  thought  he 
should  never  be  obliged  to  work.  Whenever  we  meet,  he 
always  says,  '  O  dear,  what  a  fool  I  have  been !  If  my 
father  had  only  kicked  me  into  the  street  when  I  was 


238  A     MOOSE. 

twelve  yeari  old,  and  left  me  to  shirk  for  myself,  1 
mifht  have  been  somethinor  now.'  And  I  never  see 
him,  without  thanking  God  that  I  was  brought  up  to 
depend  upon  myself,  from  my  boyhood." 

Fanny  had  now  come  to  a  long  and  steep  hill,  and 
Mr.  Davenport  and  Clinton  got  out  and  walked  up,  to 
lighten  her  load.  When  they  reached  the  top,  the 
prospect  was  very  extensive,  and  they  stopped  a  few 
minutes,  to  enjoy  the  scene,  and  to  rest  the  horse. 
While  they  were  gazing  around,  Clinton  discovered 
something  moving  on  a  distant  hill,  and  cried  out :  — 

"  A  deer !  a  deer  !  do  n't  you  see  it,  father  ?  —  right 
over  that  great  pine  that  stands  all  alone,  there." 

Mr.  Davenport  soon  discovered  the  object  pointed 
out  by  Clinton,  and  said :  — 

"No,  that  can't  be  a  deer,  Clinty, —  it  is  too  large. 
It  is  a  moose,  and  a  noble  great  one,  too.     I  should 
.  like  to  have  a  shot  at  him,  but  he  is  too  far  off." 

"Idiin't  know  there  were  moose  around  in  this 
part  of  the  State,"  said  Clinton.  "  One  of  the  loggera 
told  me  thev  had  n't  seen  one  this  winter." 

"  They  are  pretty  scarce  now  in  this  section  of  the 
country,"  said  his  father;  "but  now  and  then  one  ia 


ITS     APPEARANCE.  239 

seen.     That  fellow  has  probably  been  pursued,  and  has 
etrayed  away  from  his  yard." 

The  moose  continued  in  sight  for  several  minutes. 
Its  gait  was  a  swift,  regular  trot,  which  no  obstacle 
seemed  to  break.  There  was  something  noble  in  its 
bearing,  and  Clinton  stood  watching  and  admiring  it, 
until  it  disappeared  in  the  woods.  He  and  his  father 
then  got  into  the  sleigh,  and  drove  on. 

"  The  moose  is  a  handsomer  animal  than  I  supposed," 
said  Clinton.  "  That  one  Mr.  Preston  brought  home, 
two  or  three  years  ago,  was  a  coarse,  clumsy-looking 
fellow." 

"  They  always  look  so,  seen  at  rest,  and  close  to," 
replied  Mr.  Davenport.  "  But  when  they  are  in  mo- 
tion, and  at  a  distance,  there  is  something  quite  majes- 
tic about  them.  They  travel  very  fast,  and  they  al- 
ways go  upon  the  trot.  It  makes  no  difference  if  they 
come  to  a  fence  or  other  obstruction  five  or  six  feet 
high,  —  they  go  right  over  it,  without  seeming  to  break 
their  trot.  I  have  been  told  that  they  will  travel 
twenty  miles  an  hour,  which  is  almost  as  fast  as  our 
railroad  trains  average." 


140  ANTLERS. 

*<  I  have  heard  of  their  bein<]j  harnessed  into  sleds 
■ —  did  you  ever  see  it  done  ?  '* 

"  No,  but  they  are  sometimes  trained  in  this  way, 
and  they  make  very  fleet  teams.  The  reindeer,  which 
are  used  to  draw  sleds  in  some  parts  of  Europe,  are 
not  so  strong  or  so  fleet  as  our  moose." 

"It  is  curious  that  their  great  antlers  should  come 
off  every  year,"  said  Clinton. 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  even  more  curious  that  such  an  enor 
mous  mass  should  grow  out  again  in  three  or  four 
months'  time.  This  is  about  the  time  of  the  year  that 
their  new  antlers  begin  to  sprout.  I  saw  a  pair,  once, 
that  weighed  seventy  pounds,  and  expanded  over  five 
feet  to  the  outside  of  the  tips.  The  moose  must  have 
a  very  strong  neck,  to  carry  this  burden  about  upon 
his  head.  When  the  antlers  are  growing,  they  are 
quite  soft  and  sensitive,  and  the  moose  is  very  careful 
not  to  injure  them.  This  is  one  reason,  I  suppose, 
why  tl.ey  frequent  the  lakes  and  rivers  in  the  summer 
and  autumn,  instead  of  roaming  through  the  forests. 
At  these  seasons  of  the  year,  the  hunter  has  only  to 
conceal  himself  on  the  shore  of  some  pond  or  lake, 


A     MOOSE-YARD.  241 

and  he  is  pretty  sure  to  fall  in  with  them.     But  the 
best  time  to  hunt  them  is  in  the  winter  or  spring,  when 
tJvey  are  in  their  *  yards/  as  they  are  called." 
**  Did  you  ever  see  a  moose-yard,  father?" 
**  Yes.  I  saw  one  a  good  many  years  ago.     A  party 
of  us  went  back  into  the  forests  on  a  hunting  excur- 
sion, one  spring,  and  as  near  as  I  can  remember,  it 
was  in  this  very  part   of  the   country  that  we   came 
across  the  yard.     That  was  before  the  loggers  came 
this  way,  and  frightened  away  the  moose.     There  were 
no  roads,  then,  in  this  section,  and  we  travelled  on  foot, 
on  snow  shoes,  with  our  guns  in  our  hands,  and  our 
provisions  on  our  backs.     Some  hours  before  we  dis- 
covered the  yard,  we  knew  we  were  near  one,  by  the 
trees  which  had   been   barked   by  them   in   the  fall. 
Having  got  upon  the  right  track,  we  followed  it  up,  as 
silently  as  possible,  until  we  came  to  the  yard.     But 
the  moose  had  heard  or  smelt  us,  and  vacated  their 
quarters  before  we  reached  them.     The  yard  we  found 
to  be  an  open  space  of  several  acres,  with  paths  run- 
ning  in  e\ery  direction,  all   trodden   hard;    for   the 
moose  does  not  break  fresh  snow,  when  he  can  help  it. 
Nearly  all  the  trees  in  the  vicinity  were  stripped  of 

21 


242  A    MOOSE     HUNT. 

their  bark,  to  the  height  of  eight  or  ten  feet,  and  the 
young  and  tender  twigs  were  clipped  off  as  smoothly 
as  if  it  had  been  done  by  a  knife.  We  could  not  tell 
how  many  moose  had  yarded  here,  but  from  the  size 
and  appearance  of  their  quarters,  we  judged  there 
must  have  been  five  or  six.  Sometimes  they  yard 
alone,  but  generally  a  male,  female  and  two  fawns  are 
found  together.  But  we  did  not  stop  many  moments 
to  examine  their  quarters.  We  soon  found  their  track 
from  the  yard,  but  we  could  not  tell  from  this  how 
,  many  there  were,  for  they  generally  travel  single  file, 
the  male  going  first,  and  the  others  stepping  exactly 
into  his  tracks.  We  kept  up  the  pursuit  until  night, 
without  catching  a  sight  of  our  game.  We  then  built 
a  camp  of  hemlock  boughs,  made  up  a  good  fife  in 
front  of  it,  ate  our  supper,  and  went  to  bed. 

"  We  started  again  early  the  next  morning,  and  had 
not  gone  much  more  than  half  a  mile,  before  we  found 
the  place  where  the  moose  had  spent  the  night.  Some 
how  or  other,  they  can  tell  when  their  pursuers  stop, 
and  if  tired,  they  improve  the  opportunity  to  rest. 
Having  gone  a  little  farther,  the  track  divid«^l  into 
tw^,  and  our  party  concluded  to  do  the  sam^.     After 


A     MOOSE     AT     BAT.  243 

several  hours  pursuit,  the  gang  with  which  I  went 
came  in  sight  of*  a  moose.  He  was  evidently  pretty 
BtifF,  and  we  gained  on  him  fast,  as  the  thick  crust  on 
the  snow,  while  it  aided  us,  was  a  great  inconvenience 
to  him.  Finding  at  last  that  he  could  not  get  away 
from  us,  he  suddenly  turned  about,  and  stood  prepared 
to  meet  us.  But  we  had  no  disposition  to  form  a  very 
close  acquaintance  with  him.  One  blow  with  his  fore 
feet,  or  one  kick  with  his  hind  legs,  would  have  killed 
the  first  man  that  approached  him.  But  he  would  not 
leave  his  place  to  attack  us,  and  so  we  had  nothing  to 
do  but  to  lodge  a  bullet  or  two  in  his  head,  which 
quickly  decided  the  contest.  We  took  his  hide,  and  as 
much  of  the  meat  as  we  could  carry,  and  went  back  to 
meet  our  companions,  who,  we  found,  had  followed  up 
their  trail  all  day  without  getting  sight  of  any  game. 
At  night  they  gave  up  the  chase,  and  returned  to  tho 
place  at  which  thej^  had  separated  from  us.  That  was 
my  first  and  last  moose  hunt.  On  the  whole,  we  were 
Bs  successful  as  most  hunting  parties  are,  for  the  moose 
is  a  very  shy  animal,  and  it  is  difficult  to  approach 
within  sight  of  it,  without  its  taking  alarm." 

Mr.  Davenport  had  scarcely  finished  his  moose  story 


244  CLINTONATHOME. 

when  Uncle  Tim's  clearing  appeared  in  sight.  As  a 
gtorm  seemed  to  be  gathering,  which  might  last  several 
days,  he  concluded  to  stop  here  only  long  enough  for 
dinner,  and  then  to  push  his  way  homeward.  Uncle 
Tim  and  his  wife  and  boys  were  glad  to  see  him  and 
Clinton,  and  they  seemed  quite  disappointed  when 
they  found  their  guests  were  not  going  to  stop  over 
night.  After  an  hour's  visit,  the  travellers  resumed 
their  journey,  and  arrived  home  early  in  the  evening, 
without  any  remarkable  adventure.  The  storm  which 
]Mr.  Davenport  anticipated,  set  in  about  dark,  in  the 
form  of  rain  and  sleet,  and  continued  for  two  or  three 
days.  This  kept  Clinton  in  the  house,  much  of  the 
time,  and  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  relate  to  hia 
mother  and  Annie  the  various  incidents  of  his  excur- 
sion, which  he  did  with  great  minuteness  and  fidelity. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

WORK      AND      PL  AY  . 

rPHE  days  were  now  perceptibly  longer,  and  the  sun 
had  begun  to  make  quite  an  impression  on  the  huge 
snow-banks  in  which  Brookdale  had  been  nearly  buried 
up  all  winter.  "  Bare  ground,"  that  looks  so  pleasant 
to  the  boy  in  a  northern  climate,  after  a  long  winter, 
began  to  appear  in  little  brown  patches,  in  particularly 
sunny  and  sheltered  spots.  The  ice  upon  the  pond 
was  still  quite  thick,  but  it  was  too  soft  and  rough  for 
skating.  The  sled  runners  cut  in  so  deeply,  that  there 
was  little  fun  in  sliding  down  hill.  Besides,  skating 
and  coasting  had  got  to  be  old  stories,  and  the  boys 
were  heartily  tired  of  all  their  winter  sports.  The 
sleighing  was  about  spoiled,  the  roads  were  sloppy, 
the  fields  and  meadows  impassable,  and  the  woods  un- 
comfortable. In  fact,  while  all  the  outdoor  amuse- 
ments of  winter  were  at  an  end,  it  was  too  early  for  the 

•21* 


246  CLINTON     IN     THE     SHOP. 

various  summer  garnet,  and  sports  that  supply  theii 
places.  This  brief  season,  which  usually  attends  the 
breaking  up  of  winter  in  northern  latitudes,  is  gener- 
ally the  dullest  of  all  the  year  to  boys  in  the  country, 
unless  they  are  so  fortunate  as  to  be  able  to  amuse 
themselves  indoors,  a  part  of  the  time  at  least. 

Clinton's  favorite  place  of  resort,  at  such  seasons, 
was  the  shop  in  the  rear  of  the  house.  Here,  sur- 
rounded with  tools,  and  patterns,  and  plans,  and  speci- 
mens of  his  own  work,  and  perhaps  absorbed  by  some 
object  upon  which  he  was  engaged,  he  was  never  at  a 
loss  for  amusement.  A  day  or  two  after  his  return 
from  the  logging  camp,  he  went  to  work  on  the 
"  settle,"  which  he  had  determined  to  make,  in  imita- 
tion of  the  one  he  had  seen  at  Uncle  Tim's.  This  was 
a  job  that  would  require  some  little  thinking  and  plan- 
ning, as  well  as  skill  at  handling  tools,  —  for  his 
mother  had  promised  to  give  it  a  place  in  the  kitchen, 
if  it  was  well  made,  —  and  he  felt  anxious  to  do  his 
best  on  this  occasion.  He  first  sawed  out  from  a  plank 
the  two  end  pieces,  rounding  off  one  corner  of  each, 
in  a  sort  of  long  scroll  pattern.  Having  phmed  these 
smooth,  he  next  made  the  seat,  which  was  also  of  stiff 


THE    SETTLE.  247 

plank,  and  fastened  it  firmly  in  its  place.  Notl.ing  re- 
mained to  be  done  but  to  make  the  back,  which  was  of 
boards,  planed  and  matched,  and  screwed  into  the  end 
pieces.  In  the  course  of  a  week  the  settle  was  finished ; 
md  it  was  not  only  neat  and  well-finished,  but  really 
substantial.  It  looked  as  though  it  might  do  service 
tiill  as  long  as  Uncle  Tim's.  CHnton  was  quite  satis- 
fied with  his  success,  and  his  mother  was  so  well 
pleased  with  the  settle,  that  she  not  only  decided  to 
place  it  in  the  kitchen,  but  promised  to  make  a  hand- 
some cushion  for  it. 

As  Clinton  was  looking  admiringly  upon  his  piece  of 
work,  soon  after  it  was  finished,  and  thinking  whether 
he  could  improve  it  in  any  respect,  the  conversation  at 
Uncle  Tim's  recurred  to  his  mind,  and  a  happy  thought 
suggested  itself,  by  which  he  might  associate  his  settle 
with  that  interview,  and  thus  have  constantly  before 
him  a  memorial  of  his  trip  to  the  loggers.  The  next 
time  he  had  occasion  to  go  to  the  store,  he  bought  a 
small  package  of  brass-headed  tacks,  and  with  these 
he  carried  out  his  new  design,  which  was  to  inscribe 
his  initials  "  C.  D."  upon  one  end  of  the  settle,  and  the 
motto,  "  I  'll  Tky,"  upon  the  other.      He  had  seen 


2'ib 


SPRING. 


nails  arranged  in  the  form  of  letters  upon  trunks,  and 
he  found  no  difficulty  in  making  his  inscriptions  look 
very  well.  He  surrounded  each  of  them  by  a  single 
line  of  tacks,  placed  in  the  form  of  an  oval,  which 

gave  the  whole 
quite  a  iinished 
look.  This  im- 
provement elici- 
^  ted  from  his  pa- 
rents many  ad- 
ditional compli- 
ments for  the  new  article  of  furniture. 

The  snow  was  rapidly  disappearing,  and  the  sunny 
sides  of  the  hills  were  quite  bare.  The  welcome  song 
of  the  robin  was  heard  around  the  house,  proclaiming 
the  arrival  of  spring.  The  brook  which  flowed  through 
Mr.  Davenport's  land  was  swelled  to  a  miniature  tor- 
rent, and  Clinton's  ducks,  —  whose  water  privileges 
had  been  restricted  through  the  winter  to  a  small  space 
kept  clear  of  ice  by  an  axe,  —  now  sailed  about  in  all 
their  glory.  Tlie  frost  soon  left  the  ground,  —  for  it 
penetrates  but  sliglitly,  when  the  earth  is  covered  with 
<now  all  winter,  —  the  moisture  rapidly  dried  up,  and 


FARM    WORK.  249 

the  fii'lds  were  ready  for  the  plough.  For  a  lew  weeks 
Clinton  was  employed,  much  of  the  time,  in  the  various 
labors  of  the  farm.  He  usually  drove  the  ploughing 
(earn,  but  he  sometimes  turned  the  furrow,  by  way  of 
change,  while  his  father  guided  the  oxen.  Then  came 
harrowing,  manuring,  planting,  setting  out  trees,  making 
beds  in  the  kitchen-garden,  and  the  various  other  farm 
operations  of  spring,  in  all  of  which  Clinton  assisted 
his  father.  He  also  attended  to  his  own  patch  of 
ground,  of  which  he  had  the  sole  care  every  year.  As 
they  were  at  work  in  the  kitchen-garden  one  day,  Mr. 
x)avenport  asked  Clinton  how  he  should  like  to  take 
the  whole  charge  of  it  for  the  season. 

"  Why,  I  should  think  I  might  take  care  of  it,  just  as 
well  as  you,  after  it 's  all  planted,"  replied  Clinton. 

"And  should  you  be  willing  to  assume  all  the 
trouble  and  responsibility  ?  "  inquired  his  father. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  '11  take  it  and  do  the  best  I  can,  —  only, 
I  may  want  your  advice  sometimes." 

"  Well,  Clinty,"  resumed  his  father,  "  I  '11  make  yoa 
an  offer,  and  you  may  accept  it  or  not,  just  as  you 
please.  After  the  garden  is  planted,  I  will  surrender 
it  entirely  into  your  hands,  and  you  shall  do  the  best 


250  A    BARGAIN. 

you  can  with  it.  You  shall  keep  account  of  every 
thing  that  is  raised  in  it,  and  at  the  end  of  the  season 
we  will  calculate  the  value  of  the  various  crops,  and  1 
will  give  you  one-fourth  of  the  whole  sum,  as  your 
share  of  the  profits.  For  instance,  if  the  vegetables 
you  raise  come  to  twenty-five  dollars,  you  shall  have 
six  dollars  and  a  quarter  for  your  services.  If,  by 
your  good  management  and  the  aid  of  a  favorable 
season,  you  raise  forty  dollars'  worth,  you  will  receive 
ten  dollars,  —  and  so  on  in  proportion." 

"I'll  do  it,  I'll  do  it,"  — said  Clinton,  eagerly. 

"  "Wait  a  moment,"  continued  Mr.  Davenport,  — 
"  there  are  one  or  two  conditions  that  must  l^e  plainly 
understood,  before  we  close  the  bargain ;  one  is,  that 
you  are  not  to  neglect  my  work,  for  the  sake  of  your 
own.  I  shall  call  on  you,  when  I  want  your  assist- 
ance in  the  field,  just  as  I  did  last  year,  and  you 
must  n't  think  that  what  you  do  in  your  garden  is  to 
exempt  you  from  all  further  labor.  And  you  must 
understand,  too,  that  if  I  find  you  are  neglecting  the 
garden  at  any  time,  I  shall  take  it  back  into  my  own 
hands,  and  you  will  receive  nothing  for  your  labor.  Do 
you  agree  to  this  ?  " 


THE     GARDEN.  251 

""Yes,  sir;  but  you'll  allow  me  time  enough  to  take 
care  of  the  garden,  wont  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  you  shall  have  time  enough  for  that,  be- 
sides some  hours  every  day,  to  devote  to  study  and 
play." 

«  Well,"  said  Clinton,  « I  '11  agree  to  all  that,  and 
if  the  garden  does  n't  do  well,  it  sha  n't  be  my  fault." 

In  a  few  days  the  garden  was  all  planted.  It  was 
nearly  an  acre  in  extent,  and  was  thickly  sowed  with 
vegetables,  such  as  peas,  beans,  lettuce,  radishes,  tur- 
nips, cabbages,  onions,  early  potatoes,  sweet  corn,  cu- 
cumbers, squashes,  melons,  etc.  Having  done  all  that 
he  was  to  do  with  it,  Mr.  Davenport  now  surrendered 
it  into  the  keeping  of  Clinton.  For  a  few  weeks  the 
garden  required  little  care  ;  but  by-and-by  the  weeds 
began  to  spring  up,  and  the  various  insect  tribes  com- 
menced their  operations  among  the  tender  plants. 
Clinton  now  found  plenty  to  do.  He  was  wise  enough, 
however,  not  to  let  his  work  get  behind  hand ;  for  had 
he  suffered  the  bugs  and  weeds  to  get  a  few  days'  start 
of  him,  I  doubt  whether  he  would  have  overtaken  them. 
Tiiis  was  one  secret  of  his  success ;  another  was,  his 
perseverance, — for  he  generally  carried  through  what 


■»^ 


252  ADISPUTE. 

ever  lie  undertook,  simply  because  he  was  determiDed 
to  do  so.  Mr.  Davtmport  was  very  well  satisfied  with 
the  way  he  managed  the  garden ;  and  to  encourage 
him,  he  was  careful  not  to  call  him  away  to  other  parta 
of  the  farm  any  more  than  was  necessary. 

Clinton  generally  rode  over  to  the  post-office,  at  the 
Cross-Roads,  every  Saturday  afternoon,  to  get  the 
weekly  newspapers  to  which  his  father  was  a  subscriber. 
One  pleasant  afternoon,  in  May,  he  drove  over  as  usual, 
and  as  the  mail  had  not  arrived,  he  hitched  Fanny  to  a 
post,  and  went  away,  a  short  distance,  to  where  a  group 
of  small  boys  of  his  acquaintance  were  collected. 
They  were  earnestly  and  loudly  discussing  some  point, 
and  when  they  saw  Clinton,  one  of  them  said :  — 

"  There 's  CHnton  Davenport  coming,  let 's  leave  it 
to  him."  • 

"  Yes,"  cried  one,  and  another,  —  and  the  propo- 
sition appeared  to  be  unanimously  accepted. 

"  "Well,  what  is  the  trouble  ? "  inquired  Clinton. 

Half  a  dozen  different  voices  began  to  answer  at 
once,  when  Clinton  cut  them  all  short,  and  told  Frank, 
one  of  the  oldest  boys,  to  explain  the  difficulty. 

"  Why,"  said  Frank,  "  you  know  when  we  play  '  1 


PLAT- GROUND  RnYMES.       253 

spy/  we  tell  off  the  boj,  that's  to  lead  in  the  game,  ir 
this  way:  — 

*  One-ary,  youery,  ickery  C, 
Hackaback,  crackaback,  titobolee,  ' 
Hon-pon,  muscadon, 
Twiddledum,  twaddledum,  twenty-one.'*' 

"  '  Tweedledum,  twaddledum ! '  you  goose ! "  ex- 
claimed one  of  the  boys ;  "  who  ever  heard  such  lingo 
as  that  ?     This  is  the  right  way,  is  n't  it,  Clinton  ? 

'  One-ary,  youery,  ickery,  Ann, 
Phillacy,  follacy,  ticnlar  John  j 
Queeby,  quaby,  Irish  Mary, 
Stinklam,  stanklam,  buck.' 

There,  now,  is  n't  that  right  ?  " 

"  That's  the  way  we  have  it  here,"  replied  Clinton, 
— "  but  I  suppose  they  say  it  different  where  Frank 
came  from.  When  Oscar  Preston  was  here,  he  used 
to  rattle  it  off  different  from  both  of  these  ;  I  believe 
this  is  the  way  he  said  he  learned  it :  — 

'  One-ary,  youery,  ickery  and, 
Phillacy,  follacy,  Nicholas  Jones  • 
22 


254  MORE     RHYMES. 

Queeby,  quaby,  Irish  Mary, 
Huldee,  guldee,  loo.' " 

"  Ho  !  I  never  heard  of  that  way  before,"  said  ono 

of  the  boys ;  "  I  guess  that 's  the  latest  Boston  edition." 

"  If  you  can't  agree  on  any  of  these,"  said  Clinton, 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  can  do, — you  can  '  tell  off' 

with 

'  One-zall,  zu-zall,  zicker-all  zan, 
Bobtail,  vinegar,  titter-all,  tan, 
Hanim,  scarum,  back-out.' 

Or,  if  that  does  n't  suit,  then  take 

'  Eeny,  meeny,  mony  mite ; 
Peskalana,  bona,  strike ; 
Parage  walk.'" 


'"o^ 


**  Pooh  !  "  said  Frank ;    "  that  aint   right,  nor  any- 
where  near  it.     This  is  the  way  I  learned  that  one :— • 

'  Eeny,  meeny,  mony,  my ; 
Pistolanee,  bony,  sly ; 
Argy,  dargy,  walk.' " 

The  other  boys  all  objected  to  this  version  of  the  say* 


THEIR     ORIGIN.  255 

ing,  but  Frank  insisted  that  if  it  was  not  the  light  one, 
it  was  certainly  the  best. 

"  I  wonder  who  first  made  up  all  these  poetries," 
said  one  of  the  smaller  boys. 

" '  These  poetries ! '  what  grammar  do  you  study, 
Ned  ?  "  said  Frank,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Well,  you  know  what  1  mean,"  replied  Ned ;  "  1 
knew  'twas  n't  right,  —  I  only  said  it  just  in  fun." 

"I  don't  know  when  these  rhymes  were  made," 
said  Clinton,  "  but  my  father  says  they  used  to  have 
them  when  he  was  young,  and  I  suppose  the  boys  have 
always  had  something  of  the  kind.  Shouldn't  you 
like  to  see  all  the  different  kinds  printed  in  a  book, 
Ned  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  should,"  replied  Ned  ;  "  what  a  funny 
book  it  would  make ! " 

The  mail-stage  had  now  arrived,  and  Clinton  went 
over  to  the  post-office.  In  addition  to  the  usual  news- 
papers, the  post-master  handed  him  two  letters.  One 
of  them  was  for  Mrs.  Preston,  for  Clinton  often  took 
her  letters  and  papers  from  the  post-office,  and  delivered 
them  on  his  way  home.     The  other  letter  was  ad 


256  CURIOSITY     EXCITED. 

dressed  to  himself.  It  was  stamped  at  Boston,  and 
was  in  the  handwriting  of  his  uncle.  The  letter  for 
]\Ii-s.  Preston  had  two  or  three  different  post-marks 
upon  it,  and  was  somewhat  dingy,  as  though  it  had 
travelled  a  great  distance.  This,  together  with  the 
fact  that  the  address  was  written  in  a  cramped  and 
awkward  hand,  led  Clinton  to  suspect,  or  at  least  hope, 
it  was  from  Jerry.  He  hurried  back  as  fast  as  possi- 
ble, and  when  he  reached  Mrs.  Preston's,  his  curiosity 
was  so  much  excited  that  he  determined  to  stop  and 
hear  who  the  letter  was  from.  He  watched  Mrs. 
Preston  as  she  first  glanced  at  the  address,  and  then 
hastily  broke  the  seal,  and  before  she  had  read  half  its 
contents,  he  felt  so  certain  that  he  had  guessed  right, 
that  he  inquired  :  — 

"  Is  n't  it  from  Jerry,  Mrs.  Preston  ?  *' 

But  Mrs.  Preston  was  too  eagerly  engaged,  to  heed 
his  question,  and  she  continued  reading  until  she  had 
finished  the  letter,  when  she  replied :  — 

"  Yes,  it  is  from  Jerry,  and  I  'm  very  much  obliged 
to  you  for  bringing  it.  Poor  boy !  he  's  having  a  hard 
time  of  t,  but  it  's  a  great  satisfaction  to  know  where 
he  is." 


jerry's    letter.  257 

« Where  is  he?"  inquired  Clinton,  whose  curiosity 
was  now  thoroughly  awakened. 

"  You  may  read  the  letter,  if  you  wish,"  said  Mrs. 
Preston,  handing  it  to  Clinton.  «  Read  it  aloud,  if 
you  please,  so  that  Emily  and  Harriet  may  hear." 

Clinton  complied  with  her  request.  Correcting  the 
gi'ammar,  spelling,  and  punctuation,  the  letter  read  as 
follows :  — 

"  Rio  Janeiro,  March  30. 
"Dear  Mother, 

I  write  these  few  lines  to  let  you  know  I  am  alive 
and  well,  and  I  hope  this  will  find  you  so.  You  will 
see  from  the  date  I  am  a  good  ways  from  home.  I 
came  here  in  the  brig  Susan,  which  sailed  from  Boston 
in  February.  "We  have  had  a  very  rough  time.  Last 
week  we  encountered  a  terrible  gale,  and  I  thought  it 
was  a  gone  case  with  us.  We  had  to  put  in  here  to 
repair  damages,  and  as  there  is  a  chance  to  send  letters 
home  I  thought  I  would  write.  We  are  bound  for 
Valparaiso,  and  have  got  to  go  round  Cape  Horn.  It  is 
a  long  voyage,  and  I  guess  I  shall  go  to  California  be- 
fore 1  come  home.  I  do  n't  like  going  to  sea  so  well 
as  I  expected,  and  I  do  n't  mean  to  go  another  voyage. 
It 's  a  hard  life,  I  can  tell  you.  I  am  sorry  I  took  that 
money,  but  I  had  to  have  some.  I  did  n't  spend  but 
little  of  it,  but  somebody  has  stolen  the  rest — some  of 

22* 


258  UNPLEASANT     QUESTION. 

the  sailors,  I  suppose,  but  I  do  n't  know  who.  I  mean 
to  pay  you  back  again,  out  of  my  wages.  I  suppose 
father  has  n't  got  through  logging  yet.  I  should  like 
to  see  you  all,  but  I  must  wait  a  spell.  Tell  Mary  I 
am  going  to  fetch  her  home  a  pretty  present,  and  I 
shall  bring  something  for  the  others,  too.  I  can't  see 
to  write  any  longer,  so  good-bye  to  you  all. 

Jeremiah  Preston." 

"  Mother,"  said  Harriet,  as  soon  as  Clinton  had  fin* 
ished  reading  the  letter,  "  what  does  Jerry  mean  about 
taking  money?" 

"  Do  n't  ask  me  any  questions  now,"  replied  Mrs. 
Prestoii,  in  a  tone  that  cut  off  all  further  inquiries. 
Jerry's  theft  had  been  a  secret  in  her  own  breast,  until 
now  j  but  as  he  had  alluded  to  it  in  his  letter,  and  as 
his  letter  must  be  read  by  all  the  family,  she  knew  it 
could  no  longer  be  concealed.  Still,  she  was  provoked 
that  Harriet  should  be  so  thoughtless  as  to  allude  to 
the  subject  in  the  presence  of  Clinton. 

"  Emily,"  continued  IVIrs.  Preston,  "  you  run  and  get 
vour  atlas,  and  let  Clinton  show  us  where  Jerry  is,  be- 
fore he  goes." 

The  atlas  was  soon  produced,  and  Chnton,  turning 
to  the  map  of   South  America,  pointed  out  to  the 


CONSULTING     THE     MAP.  250 

family  the  location  of  Rio  Janeiro,  m  Erazil,  en  the 
Atlantic  coast,  and  Valparaiso,  the  chief  sea-port  of 
Chili,  on  the  Pacific  side  of  the  continent.  Then,  re- 
membering his  own  unopened  letter,  he  bade  them 
good-night,  and  started  for  home. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


BITTER     FRUITS. 


<  "IV/rOTHER,!  Ve  got  lots  of  news,"  said  Clinton,  as 
he  entered  the  house ;  "  Mrs.  Preston  's  had  a 
letter  from  Jerry,  and  I  've  got  one  from  Uncle  Clin- 
ton. Jerry  's  gone  to  sea,  and  wrote  home  from  Rio 
Janeiro.  He  came  near  being  shipwrecked,  and  he 
says  he  *s  got  enough  of  going  to  sea.  He  's  got  to  go 
clear  round  Cape  Horn,  though,  to  Valparaiso,  before 
he  can  come  home." 

"And  what  does  your  Uncle  Clinton  write?" 
"  O,  I  have  n't  read  that  yet,  but  I  'm  going  to  now,* 
said  Clinton ;  and  he  sat  down  and  opened  his  letter. 
**  See  what  a  long  one  it  is,"  he  added,  holding  it  open ; 
"  I  \yonder  what  it  can  all  be  about."  It  was  as  fel- 
lows:— 

"Boston,  IIay  12,  185-. 
"My  Dear  Nephew  and  Namesake, 

It 's  a  long  while  since  you  have  had  a  letter  from 


COUSIN     WILLIE.  261 

me,  and  I  suppose  you  will  -wonder  what  is  going  to 
happen  when  you  see  this ;  but  do  n't  be  frightened  — 
there  's  nothing  alarming  in  the  wind.     We  all  felt 
very  sorry,  when  your  father  wrote  us  that  your  an- 
ticipated visit  to  Boston  this  spring  muBt  be  postponed. 
Wilhe,  in  particular,  was  sadly  disappointed.     He  had 
set  his  heart  on  having  a  nice  time  with  you  —  piloting 
you  around  the  city,  showing  you  the  *  elephants,'  and 
making  himself  generally  useful  and  agreeable.     And 
will  you  believe  it,  the  silly  fellow  actually  *  boo-hooed 
right  out*  when  your  father's  letter  came,  and  put  a  wet 
blanket  on  his  anticipations.     Well,  never  mind,  you  '11 
come  this  summer  or  fall,  wont  you  ?     I  Ve  promised 
Willie  you  shall,  and  as  I  always  keep  my  promises, 
you  see  there  is  no  backing  out  of  that.     Tell  your 
father  that  he  must  let  you  come,  as  soon  as  he  can 
spare  you,  and  if  he  does  njt,  I  shall  send  a  writ  after 
you. 

"  I  have  a  case  on  the   docket,  as  we  lawyers  say, 

* 

that  I  guess  will  interest  you  a  little.  Willie  insists 
upon  my  writing  a  history  of  it  for  your  benefit ;  and 
as  he  is  full  four  feet  high,  now,  and  keeps  a  terrible 
great  dog,  I  suppose  I  must  comply  with  his  wishes. 
The  parties  in  this  case  are,  on  the  one  side,  our  ven- 
erable and  dignified  Commonwealth,  and  on  the  other, 
that  young  harum-scarum  crony  of  yours,  (if  you  will 
own  him  as  such),  Oscar  Preston.  You  knew,  I  sup- 
pose, that  Oscar  went  to  sea  after  he  left  Brookdale  so 


262  OSCAR'S     CAREER. 

suddenly,  last  fall.  He  got  back  again  in  the  Avinter, 
perfectly  cured  of  his  life-on-the-ocean-wave  fever,  and 
has  done  nothing  but  loaf  about  and  cut  up  shines  ever 
since.  He  would  n't  go  to  school,  and  he  would  n't  go 
to  work,  and  he  would  n't  do  anything  that  his  father 
wished  him  to  do. 

"  But  his  bad  habits  were  not  all  negative  ones,  I 
can  assure  you ;  for  a  few  weeks  ago  it  happened  to 
be  discovered,  some  how  or  other,  that  he  and  two  or 
three  other  boys  had  formed  a  band  of  thieves,  and 
had  stolen  several  articles  from  diffei-ent  persons  and 
houses.  The  affair  went  before  the  Grand  Jury,  and 
one  of  the  young  scamps  confessed  the  whole  story. 
So  an  officer  arrested  Oscar,  and  carried  him  to  jail ; 
and  his  father,  on  learning  the  facts  in  the  case,  was  so 
enraged  that  he  would  not  bail  him  out.  He  came  to 
me,  however,  to  see  what  could  be  done  for  Oscar,  and 
engaged  me  to  act  as  his  counsel.  I  inquired  into  all 
the  facts,  and  when  I  found  how  conclusive  the  evi- 
dence was  a2;ainst  him.  I  told  his  father  the  best  thing 
Oscar  could  do  would  be  to  plead  guilty,  and  trust  to 
the  mercy  of  the  judge,  who,  I  had  little  doubt,  would 
take  into  consideration  his  youth,  and  sentence  him  to 
the  Reform  School.  His  father  objected  to  this  at 
first,  but  at  last  he  was  convinced  that  this  would  bo 
the  best  course.  So  we  both  went  over  to  the  jail, 
in  Cambridge  Street,  last  week,  to  talk  with  Oscar 
about  it. 


OSCAR     IN     PRISON.  261^ 

"  We  found  him  in  a  little  cell,  about  twelve  feet  by 
eight,  engaged  in  reading  a  newspaper,  which  some 
one  had  distributed  among  the  prisoners.  He  did  not 
appear  very  glad  to  see  his  father,  and  spoke  in  a 
surly  manner  to  him.  I  really  pitied  the  poor  man, 
for  he  felt  so  badly  that  he  could  hardly  keep  from 
crying,  when  he  saw  the  situation  of  his  son.  Oscar 
did  not  know  me,  I  suppose.  I  believe  I  never  saw 
him  before,  although  I  had  often  heard  Willie  speak 
of  him.  Mr.  Preston  told  him  that  I  was  a  lawyer 
whom  he  had  engaged  to  manage  his  case,  and  he  then 
proceeded  to  tell  him  the  conclusion  we  had  arrived  at. 
*  I  sha  n't  do  it,'  he  instantly  replied ;  '  I  aint  guilty 
and  I  wont  say  I  am.'  *  But,'  said  I,  *  this  is  very 
foolish  in  you,  for  here  are  the  clearest  proofs  of  your 
guilt,  and  you  can't  rub  them  out.'  '  I  do  n't  care,'  he 
said,  *  I  wont  cave  in  now^  any  how.  I  mean  to  stick 
it  out  to  the  last.'  I  then  told  him  we  were  afraid  he 
would  be  sentenced  to  the  House  of  Correction,  where- 
as, if  he  confessed  his  guilt,  we  could  probably  get  the 
judge  to  send  him  to  the  Reform  School.  *  I  do  n't 
want  to  go  to  the  Reform  School,'  he  replied;  'of  the 
two,  I  'd  rather  go  to  the  House  of  Correction.  That 
would  be  all  over  with,  in  two  or  three  months ;  but  if 
I  'm  sent  to  the  Reform  School,  I  shall  have  to  stay 
three  or  four  years,  and  I  wont  do  it  —  I  '11  run  away 
first.'  So  he  continued  to  talk,  and  we  continued  to 
reason  with  him,  but  all  in  vain ;  and  finally  we  left 


264  FRIENDLYMESSAGES. 

him,  in  no  pleasant  mood.  This  forenoon,  I  called  on 
him  again,  thinking  he  might  have  altered  his  mind, 
by  this  time ;  but  he  "was  as  obstinate  as  ever,  and  so 
I  must  defend  him  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  when  the 
trial  comes  on,  next  month.  Poor  boy !  I  'm  afraid 
he  will  find  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is  liard,  before 
he  is  many  months  older.  He  appears  to  be  pretty  in- 
telligent, and  does  not  look  like  a  bad  boy,  but  he 
seems  bent  on  his  vicious  courses.  I  tried  to  appeal 
to  his  feelings,  to-day,  but  could  not  produce  any  efiect 
upon  him.  I  '11  try  to  let  you  know  how  his  case  turns 
out,  when  it  comes  to  trial. 

'*  Your  Aunt  Lizzy  sends  her  love  to  you  and  to 
your  father,  and  mother,  and  dear  little  Annie.  Willie 
says,  '  Tell  Clinton  I  'm  going  down  to  see  him  this 
summer'  —  but  as  this  is  the  first  /  have  heard  of  it, 
I  guess  it  will  pass  only  for  a  rumor.  Sissy  sends  '  a 
bushel  of  love,*  and  Bouncer,  Willie's  big  bouncincr 
dog  that  I  mentioned  before,  sends  a  wag  of  his  tail. 
Here  it  is :  — 


There,  now,  I  forgot  to  put  in  the  wag  —  but  no 
aiatter,  you  can  miagine  that.     Well,  I  've  got  to  the 


TALK    ABOUT     OSCAR.  265 

end  of  ray  sheet,  and  have  only  room  to  subscribe 
myself, 

Your  affectionate 

Uncle  Clinton." 

After  running  over  the  letter,  Clinton  read  it  aloud 
to  his  father  and  mother.  The  intelligence  it  gave 
concerning  Oscar,  did  not  much  surprise  any  of  them, 
though  they  felt  sorry  for  him  and  his  parents. 

"  I  have  seldom  known  a  bad  beginning  to  make  a 
gDod  ending,"  remarked  Mr.  Davenport.  "Oscar 
seems  to  have  made  a  very  poor  start  in  life,  and  I  'm 
afraid  he  will  not  turn  out  any  too  well.  It  's  too  bnrl 
for  I  always  thought  he  was  a  bright,  capable  sort  of  a 
boy,  if  he  would  only  keep  out  of  mischief  But  I 
suspect  his  parents  never  had  much  control  over  him, 
and  if  that 's  the  case,  they  are  as  much  to  be  blamed 
as  pitied." 

After  conversing  a  while  longer  on  Oscar's  case, 
Mr.  Davenport  told  Clinton  he  had  better  not  mention 
the  subject  out  of  the  family,  as  it  might  reach  the  ears 
ot  Jerry's  mother,  and  make  her  feel  unpleasantly. 
He  also  told  Clinton  he  had  concluded  to  let  him  go  to 
Boston  in  October,  and  that  he  ipight  write  to  either 

26 


266  WORKING    AND     THINKING 

his  Unele  Clinton  or  to  his  Cousin  Willie,  and  inform 
them  of  the  fact.  He  also  directed  him  to  invite  Willie 
to  come  and  spend  his  summer  vacation  with  him,  and 
to  extend  the  same  invitation  to  the  rest  of  the  family 
Clinton  accordingly  wrote,  a  few  days  after,  directing 
the  letter  to  his  uncle,  whose  long  epistle,  he  thought, 
was  entitled  to  an  answer. 

Clinton  continued  his  daily  labors  in  the  garden, 
which  now  began  to  give  tokens  of  a  fair  harvest. 
He  set  apart  a  portion  of  each  day  to  this  business, 
and  was  always  to  be  found  engaged  at  his  work,  when 
the  set  hour  arrived.  While  weeding  the  beds,  and 
hoeing  the  corn  and  potatoes,  and  training  the  pea  and 
bean  vines,  his  thoughts  often  wandered  far  away,  — 
sometimes  to  Jerry,  now  probably  near  the  end  of  his 
voyage ;  and  sometimes  to  the  Uttle  stone  cell  in  which 
Oscar  was  awaiting  his  trial. 

June  came,  and  as  this  was  the  month  in  which 
Oscar's  case  was  to  be  decided,  Clinton  began  to  look 
rather  impatiently  for  a  letter.  He  went  to  the  post' 
oifice  two  oi-  three  times  a  week,  but  still  no  lettoi 
made  its  ap2)earance.  At  length,  however,  his  fre- 
quent  visits    were  rewarded   by    the  reception  of  a 


Oscar's    sentence.  267 

newspaper,  directed  to  himself,  in  the  well-known  hand 
of  his  uncle.  Tearing  off  the  wrapper,  and  opening 
the  paper,  —  for  he  could  not  wait  till  he  got  home,  — 
a  heavy  black  mark,  drawn  with  a  pen  around  a  par- 
ticulai*  item,  at  once  met  his  eye.  The  article  was 
headed,  ^'■Municipal  Court ;''^  and  after  brief  notices 
of  several  trials,  sentences,  etc.,  came  the  marked  par- 
agraph, which  was  as  follows :  — 

"  Oscar  Preston,  a  minor,  tried  on  two  indictments 
for  larceny.  Verdict  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  the  State 
Reform  School  during  his  minority." 

This  was  all,  and  it  told  the  whole  story.  Clinton 
was  disappointed  that  the  information  was  not  conveyed 
by  letter,  which  would  have  given  him  more  particu- 
lars ;  but  he  concluded  his  uncle  was  too  busy  to  write, 
and  he  felt  glad  he  had  not  entirely  forgotten  him,  in 
the  hurry  of  business.  He  hastened  home,  and 
showed  the  short,  sad  record  to  his  parents. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Davenport,  on  reading  it,  "  that  is 
the  best  place  for  him.  They  may  make  something  of 
him  yet." 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  the  Reform  School?"  in- 


2GS  THE     REFORM     SCHOOL. 

quired  Clinton  ;  "  is  it  anything  like  a  jail,  or  house  of 
correction  ?  " 

"Not  much, I  suppose," replied  his  father;  "boys  are 
sent  there  to  be  reformed  and  instructed,  rather  than 
punished.  I  have  never  visited  an  institution  of  this 
kind,  myself,  but  I  read  quite  a  full  description  of  the 
one  in  Massachusetts,  not  long  ago,  and  perhaps  I  can 
find  the  paper  that  contained  it.  I  will  look  over  the 
files,  some  day  when  I  have  leisure." 

One  rainy  afternoon,  not  long  after  this,  Mr.  Daven- 
port overhauled  the  papers  referred  to,  and  succeeded 
in  finding  the  description  of  the  Massachusetts  Reform 
School.  He  gave  it  to  Clinton,  who  was  much  inter- 
ested in  it.  The  following  is  the  substance  of  the 
description :  — 

This  institution  is  located  in  Westboro',  thirty-two 
miles  from  Boston,  and  is  designed  to  accommodate 
five  or  six  hundred  boys.  Any  boy  under  sixteen 
years  of  age,  who  has  been  convicted  of  an  offence 
punishable  by  imprisonment,  can  be  sentenced  to  tic 
Keform  School  instead  of  the  prison,  unless  his  crime 
IS  a  very  aggravated  one,  such  as  the  laws  require  to 


o 

(4 

o 


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o 
o 

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6 


THE     CLASSES.  271 

be  punished  by  imprisonment  for  life.  When  a  boy 
arrives  at  the  School,  he  is  first  placed  in  the  hands  of 
the  steward,  who  strips,  washes,  and  dresses  him  in  a 
suit  of  good  clothes  ;  he  is  then  assigned  to  the  field  or 
workshop,  and  is  not  allowed  to  converse  with  Lis  com- 
panions for  two  or  three  days,  or  until  the  superin- 
tendent understands  his  character  and  disposition. 
The  boys  are  divided  into  four  principal  classes.  The 
new  comers  enter  the  first  class,  and  by  dint  of  good 
conduct  work  their  way  up.  Beyond  the  fourth  is  a 
still  higher  class,  reached  only  by  a  few,  and  known  as 
the  class  of  "  Truth  and  Honor^  To  become  a  mem- 
ber of  this  class,  a  boy  must  pass  a  certain  number  of 
weeks  without  a  demerit  mark,  —  for  a  daily  account  of 
the  merits  and  demerits  of  each  boy  is  kept,  and  at  the 

end  of  the  week  he  is  promoted  or  degraded,  according 

* 
to  his  deserts.     It  is  so  difficult  to  get  into  the  class  of 

"  Truth  and  Honor,"  that  there  are  seldom  more  than 
eight  or  ten  members.  They  enjoy  extraordinary 
privileges,  —  are  invited  to  the  parlor  of  the  superin- 
tendent, —  have  extra  hours  to  play  and  read,  and  re- 
ceive numerous  special  favors,  greatly  prized  by  them, 
and  desired  by  others. 


272  DAILY    ROUTINE. 

The  daily  order  of  business  is  as  follows :  The  boys 
rise  at  five  o'clock  in  summer,  make  their  beds,  march 
to  the  general  wash-room,  where  they  bathe  their 
hands  and  face ;  attend  prayers  at  a  quarter  before 
Bix ;  from  six  to  seven  for  breakfast  and  play ;  work 
from  seven  to  ten,  A.  M.,  and  from  three  to  six,  P.  M.  i 
study  from  ten  A.  M.,  to  three  P.  M.,  in  two  ses 
sions  of  two  hours  each,  with  an  hour  for  dinner 
and  play,  at  noon ;  from  six  to  seven,  P.  M.,  for 
fiupper  and  play  ;  from  seven  to  eight  for  the  hearing 
and  examination  of  all  reports  respecting  the  good  or 
bad  conduct  of  the  boys,  and  the  settlement  of  cases 
needing  discipline  which  have  occurred  during  the  day. 
On  Sunday  they  have  a  Sabbath-school,  and  religious 
worship  in  their  chapel. 

Many  of  the  boys  are  employed  in  making  shoes. 
They  not  only  make  and  mend  all  their  own  shoes,  but 
manufacture  for  dealers,  who  contract  for  their  labor. 
A.bout  eighty  boys  are  employed  in  the  tailor's  shop, 
where  all  the  clothing,  bedding,  etc.,  used  in  the  insti* 
tution,  are  made  and  repaired.  In  the  shops,  no  noise 
or  confusion  is  allowed  during  working  hours.  The 
boys  are  arranged  in  divisions,  to  each  of  which  there 


EMPLOYMENT.  273 

is  a  monitor,  who  has  a  slate  on  his  bench,  with  the 
names  of  the  boys,  in  his  division,  written  upon  it,  and 
when  one  of  them  commits  a  fault,  the  disciplinarian 
gives  notice  of  the  fact  to  the  monitor,  who  makes  a 
demerit  mark  opposite  to  the  delinquent's  name. 

A  portion  of  the  boys  are  employed  upon  the  farm, 
which  embraces  nearly  three  hundred  acres.  Then, 
there  is  the  laundry,  in  which  some  twenty  boys  do  the 
washing  and  ironing,  under  the  direction  of  a  matron ; 
and  the  kitchen,  in  which  several  boys  do  the  cooking 
and  baking,  etc. 

Boys,  committed  to  the  Keform  School,  are  kept  till 
they  are  reformed  and  discharged,  or  bound  out  as  ap- 
prentices to  mechanics  and  farmers,  or  sent  to  prison  if 
they  are  found  to  be  incorrigible.  They  cannot  be 
committed  to  the  institution  for  less  than  one  year,  or 
for  a  longer  term  than  during  their  minority. 

"  Well,"  said  IMr.  Davenport,  after  Clinton  had  fin- 
ished reading  the  account,  "  now  you  can  imagine  in 
what  sort  of  a  place  Oscar  is  living,  and  what  he  is 
about,  —  for  I  suppose  he  has  been  sent  to  the  Reform 
School  before  this." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Clinton,  "and   I  guess  it  will 


27-4         DIFFICULTY     OF    REFORMING. 

come  rather  hard  to  him,  at  first,  to  go  to  work,  do  n't 
you  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  it  will,  —  but  I  suppose,  if  he  can  be 
made  to  form  habits  of  industry  aad  obedience,  it  will 
be  comparatitely  easy  to  save  him,  even  now." 

"I  hope  he  will  get  into  the  class  of  *  Truth  and 
Honor,' added  Clinton. 

"  Ah,"  said  his  father,  "  what  a  pity  it  is  that  boys 
ever  get  out  of  that  class  I  It  is  much  easier  to  stay  in 
it,  than  it  is  to  get  back  again  after  a  person  has  been 
once  expelled  from  it.  When  you  think  of  Oscar's 
unhappy  career,  Clinton,  I  want  you  to  remember  what 
it  was  that  led  to  it ;  and,  beware,  how  you  swerve  a 
single  hair  from  the  line  of  truth  and  honor." 

Perhaps  INIr.  Davenport  was  thinking  of  Clinton's 
entanglement  in  Jerry's  artful  snares,  the  previous  win- 
ter, when  he  uttered  this  warning:;  but  he  never  direct- 
ly alluded  to  that  affair,  since  his  son  had  given  such 
unequivocal  evidence  of  sorrow  for  his  offence.  Clin- 
ton, indeed,  had  already  more  than  made  up,  by  his 
exemplary  conduct,  what  he  lost  in  the  good  opinit 
of  his  parents  by  his  unliappy  connection  with  Jerr} 
He  had  the  wisclom  to  proht  by  his  experience,  and 


CONCLUSION.  275 

the  lesson  wliich  he  learned  from  his  temptation  and 
fall,  he  will  probably  never  forget.  For  the  present, 
however,  we  must  bid  him  good-by.  Should  the  read- 
ers of  thii  volume  wish  to  know  something  further  of 
bis  history,  it  is  possible  that  I  may  be  able  to  gratify 
their  curiosity,  some  time  or  other. 


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